


Unseen

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, POV Draco Malfoy, Purging, Recovery, Slow Burn, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 218,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Draco Malfoy never thought he deserved to be loved. He tore himself down bit by bit until there wasn't enough of him left to hate.(Or: How Draco Malfoy recovers from an eating disorder and falls in love along the way.)
Relationships: (Eventual), Dean Thomas/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1293
Kudos: 631
Collections: dm fanfics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This story follows Draco as he overcomes anorexia and finds himself in a relationship that is, at times, unhealthy. This fic is a work based on my own experiences dealing with this issue. It is its own story exploring a series of circumstances which people react to in unique ways. If you are looking for information on eating disorders, please utilize scholarly and educational material for that purpose. 
> 
> Trigger warnings included in this story are: 
> 
> *Strong, crude language  
> *Suicidal ideation  
> *Purging/Vomiting  
> *Food Restriction  
> *Emotional Abuse  
> *Explicit (Consensual) Sexual Activities  
> *Violence  
> *Physical Abuse (Unintentional)  
> *Biphobia

Draco stared at the lump of white-blond hair in his hand, not quite believing his eyes.

He was proud of his hair; it fell to the middle of his back and he did all sorts of elaborate things with it. Draco’s mother taught him, of course, since his father only seemed to know two different styles: up and down. When Draco ran his fingers through his hair a year ago, one or two strands would come loose. That was normal; it happened to everyone. When he started pulling five or six, he shrugged it off as a curiosity. On that freezing February afternoon, however, he looked down at what must have been fifteen strands of blond hair in his open palm. Draco’s stomach fell to his toes and he counted them individually, just to be sure. 

Sixteen. 

Sixteen strands sat there in a clump, shuffling as Draco’s hand shook beneath them. Something was wrong. Something had to be done.

Draco tossed the hairs into the basin and braced himself against the sink. The rest of his body shook, too. He needed to have control of this. He felt tears threaten to spill over and forced them back, tightening his hold on the lip of the bathroom sink. If Draco could control this, he could fix it. After all, there was one certainty about what was happening to his body:

He had done this to himself.

Draco looked up at his face in the mirror and figured he looked the same as he always had. He was a tad puffier, the dark circles below his eyes had not faded with time as he insisted they would. Everything was just one degree off. This was unfamiliar and, Draco allowed himself one moment of honesty, _fucking terrifying_. He tapped the toe of one shoe against the bathroom tile then kicked one of the cabinets.

“Fucking hell!”

Draco had no idea how to fix this, no idea what _this_ was. No idea where to start or how to stop. He half-ran out of the bathroom and almost immediately stuttered to a halt, staring at his bed. Perhaps if he laid down long enough he could wake up and everything would be alright again. But there was no nap that could undo the years of wreckage lurking beneath his skin.

Draco had to go to someone for help, and the only person he trusted was the last person he wished to tell. Someone who understood the need for discretion while finding a way to make him whole again. He stood there, staring at the floor for several minutes as he weighed the options. He could tell no one and pray this stopped before he lost enough hair for it to matter. Draco could seek out help on his own, but he would quickly fall back into the part of himself he was so desperate to leave behind. The only true way to fix this was to break himself open and hope someone would be there to help pick up the pieces. 

Draco walked to the door at the end of the hall and flung it open before he could stop to think about it. His father did not bother looking up from his parchment. The quill in his hand never paused.

“Not now, son, I am busy.”

Draco ignored him and walked to the edge of his desk. His father was busy and part of him felt horrible for interrupting, but if he didn’t do it right now, right that moment, he never would. Draco pulled out one of the chairs, folded his hands in his lap, then realized he had no idea what to say. He heard his father place the quill in the inkpot and the silence dragged on for several seconds. His hands shook in his lap so Draco twined his fingers together. Without looking up, he finally said,

“I need help.”

His father sighed and asked, “With what?” As though this was a burden to him. As if Draco was generally incapable of solving his own problems, even though it was all he ever did.

“I cannot ...” No, Draco had to rephrase. “Something is wrong with me. I do not eat like a normal person.”

His father’s eyebrows knitted together.

“What is normal?”

“Like a person.”

“You eat like a Vampire? Werewolf? Centaur?”

“I don’t eat, father!” Draco shouted. He clapped a hand across his mouth. Immediately, he was coated with dread because somebody knew. He could not take it back. _Somebody knew._ Draco could not find it in himself to look up, terrified of the disappointment he would see on his father’s face.

Lucius Malfoy softly asked, “How long has it been? We can get you checked in at St. Mungo’s within the hour. A diagnosis soon after, hopefully a simple fix.”

Draco shook his head and looked up.

“You don’t understand, father. Nothing happened to make me like this. I am doing this to myself and I need to stop, but I dunno how. I just ... I dunno how ... to stop.”

His father frowned and shuffled the parchment on his desk before pushing it off to one side.

“Are you telling me you do not know how to stop whatever is going on inside that head of yours?”

Draco nodded.

“Well Merlin knows I understand that. Twenty-six years of understanding.” Lucius Malfoy leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and looked Draco up and down. His frown deepened, like he had spotted something he hadn’t seen before. “This is serious?”

Draco swallowed thickly and insisted, “I was handling it, father, I swear! It was fine until ...”

“Until now?” His father guessed. “What changed?”

“My hair is falling out.” Draco bit down on his lip, forcing the tears back yet again. Saying the words aloud made it real. “I do not have a word for this, whatever it is, but it is like everything I have ever feared takes the form of food and it becomes this ... this weight in my stomach I have to run off or vomit back up. And it is not magic, not a curse, just me.” He paused, unsure how to explain any more. “I don’t know how not to be like this.”

“How long has this been happening?” Worry lines creased his father’s forehead. “How long have you been hiding this?”

Draco thought about it. He frowned and looked down at his hands as he searched through his memories. When was the last time he ate two meals in a row and didn’t hate himself for it?

“Ten years.”

Lucius Malfoy blinked. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand across his face.

“Would your mother be better suited to help you?”

“Absolutely, but she will blame herself for not noticing sooner or not helping, and I cannot think about that. I cannot bear the responsibility of her failure in this. I am coming to you because you are my father and I am frightened and I have no one else, so if you could please just help me!”

Draco anxiously ran his hand through his hair and three strands came out between his fingers. He watched them fall toward the floor and his entire world seemed to follow. He could no longer hold anything back or so much as pretend to keep himself together. Draco shoved a fist between his teeth to quiet the sobs wracking his body. Tears blurred his vision and he regretted this beyond measure. Losing control was painful enough, but to expose his vulnerability to his father like this just placed more shame upon his shoulders.

“Son, come here.”

Draco hadn’t heard his father move, but stood up and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbled. He couldn’t stop trembling so his father tightened his arms around him. “Never meant to fail you like this.”

“My son, the only way for you to fail me would be to go bald.”

Draco hiccupped.

“I have failed you many times, but the only failure here would have been you living one more day like this. It is done and we will find a way to get you well.”

**.oOo.**

Draco hadn’t booked an appointment, just stood outside Weeoanwhisker’s Barber Shop and peered through the window. He’d always gone to the same man in Ravenclaw Valley, but this needed to be different. Making a change in one area might be helped along if he made another drastic move to take his mind off it.

It had been ten days since he broke down in his father’s study. This morning, his father summoned him to say,

“I contacted some friends, and the Patil girls run a small office that focuses on illnesses of the more, shall we say ‘cerebral variety?’ You will see Penelope Clearwater on Thursday to determine whether this is the proper course.”

“Contacted some friends” generally meant “threatened them until they gave me the answer I wanted.” Regardless, Draco had loads of questions. Namely, _What the hell are they going to do to me?_ and _How do they plan to fix this?_ He hated to admit it, but this was the first time he trusted his father and hadn’t been disappointed. It was too good to be true.

In contrast to everything Draco was feeling, Weeoanwhisker’s was calm. It was a mix of cool browns and greys with white and navy trimmings scattered about the place. One of the barbers caught sight of him through the window and waved him in. Draco bit down on the inside of his cheek to steady himself and jumped up the steps before he could think to run away. He opened the door and walked right into Gabriel Truman’s open arms.

“Merlin’s arse, Malfoy! Years I’ve been begging for you to come, and you finally have!”

Draco patted him politely on the back and said, “Nice to see you too, Gabriel.”

Gabriel Truman took Draco by the shoulders and stepped back to take a look at him. Draco returned the gesture and found himself smiling at what he saw. Truman had shirked all traditional wizarding style in favour of something Draco didn’t have a word for. (A worryingly common occurrence, as of late.) Truman had one ring through his left nostril and one through the right side of his lower lip. He wore a black button-down shirt and dark jeans, and he appeared truly happy to see Draco. But even he could discern something was not right. Gabriel frowned as he met Draco’s gaze. He shook his head warily then asked,

“Time for change?”

Draco pulled his hair out of its bun and repeated, “Time for change.”

Gabriel walked to a barber’s chair situated between two others and nodded for Draco to sit down. No sooner had his bum met the seat cushion than Gabriel had the styling cape around his neck. He placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders, so Draco slouched backward until he was resting against the chair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to convince himself this would feel right. Eventually.

“Alright, mate, how much of this am I taking off?”

Draco opened his eyes to catch Truman’s gaze in the mirror and said, “I like the length you have.”

“Yes!” Gabriel shouted, pumping his fist in the air. He ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and grinned. “Draco Malfoy without product in his hair? I must be dreaming. So we’re gonna cut it, shorter on the sides and taper it a bit but leave it longer up—”

Gabriel paused and looked down at his hand. Draco sighed and hung his head in shame. The hardest part of this wasn’t making a change; the most difficult part was letting people in, letting them know he was ill. Once they knew, he would be forever tainted in their eyes. The man who can’t do the most human of things. Gabriel caught Draco’s eyes in the mirror once again and let the tiny clump of hair fall to the floor.

“Draco, is this something you truly want to do, or are you just looking for immediate relief? I don’t want you to look at yourself three days from now and feel even shittier than you do right now because you’ve lost something that means a great deal to you.”

“Well,” Draco replied, his voice a bit strangled, “now you know I am losing it either way. This is the only way to change the way it looks as it falls out in my hands. If it is shorter, if there is less of it, perhaps it will hurt less.”

“Right, good news is that it’s not patchy and is thinning evenly across your scalp. You Malfoys have some great fucking locks.” He grabbed a bobble and wrapped it around Draco’s hair. “Are you ill?”

“In a way.”

“Food, yeah?” Gabriel asked right as he cut off the hair right at the top of the bobble. He smiled at Draco’s shocked expression and offered him the severed ponytail. “D’you want to hold it?”

Draco nodded and placed the hair across his lap. He didn’t feel any sadness to see it gone, only relief. This was good. This was control. The past ten years had been literally lifted off his shoulders.

Truman revealed, “My girlfriend had the same problem.”

“Romilda?!”

He nodded and said, “Yeah, mate. Sneaky bitch about it, too. Said it’d been happening for a couple years.” Truman sprayed some water on Draco’s hair then twisted the portion on top and pinned it to the crown of his head. “She’d eat a meal then chuck it back up right after when nobody was looking. Just excuse herself to the loo and all the food’d come back up.”

As Gabriel began cutting the hair on the back of his head, Draco asked, “Is she okay now?” Though he was more than a little nervous about the answer.

“In a way. She went to a Muggle therapist but they never actually healed her, they just talked.”

“Talked?”

Gabriel nodded.

“She spoke with the therapist once a week and things began looking up. Romilda would hardly speak to me at the beginning, I think it hurt her pride, but weeks turned into months and she started opening up about it. She thought I wouldn’t love her if she didn’t look a certain way, I guess. Which is bollocks! Romilda is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I felt like a complete twat for doing anything to make her feel that way. The more she talked to the therapist, though, she started to realize it had nothing to do with me at all.”

“Do you mind if I ask why she wanted to get better?”

“She didn’t.” Gabriel revealed. “We were snogging on the bed one night. Just snogging, you know, not planning to go any further than that, I just wanted to be with her. So I moved to put my hand on her neck, pull her closer, and instead a couple dozen strands of hair came loose between my fingers.”

Draco cringed internally. He felt for Romilda, having been so deep in whatever fresh hell it was that she had no hope of pulling herself out. He knew exactly what it felt like.

“After that I pulled away to take a good look at her and it was like I saw her for the first time. Romilda hadn’t lost a lot of weight or anything, she just looked thinner in the slightest ways. Places I wouldn’t normally notice. Every part of her looked weak, her eyes were purple around the bottom, and I hated myself for not having seen it earlier. She told me immediately about what she was doing then I got angry at her.” Gabriel began cutting the sides of Draco’s hair. “How could she do that to herself, you know? How the hell could she ever think I would want that for her?”

“It does not sound the same,” Draco admitted. “I never did this for anyone but myself.”

“That’s just it, though, innit?” Truman said. “Romilda hated herself, and that was the root of it. She thought nobody could love her the way I do, and she would do whatever it took to remain exactly the same so I wouldn’t find a reason to hate her, too.”

“How could she believe that?” Draco asked. “Romilda is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. Smart, too, outside of falling for your sorry arse.”

Gabriel laughed.

“Right you are. As for why it happened, I don’t care. It isn’t my job to figure out why, it is my job to help Romilda learn to see herself the way I see her. I am going to marry her one day, if she’ll have me, and I never want her to believe I won’t be there for her when life gets difficult. It has been about two years and she only goes to therapy once a month, now.”

“So she doesn’t—”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head. “She hasn’t purged in over a year. That’s what they call it, the upchucking.”

Wow. Draco used his eyes, not his head, to glance down at the hacked-off ponytail between his fingers. To think someone else had gone through this and come out the other side ... There was hope. Gabriel unpinned the tresses at the top of Draco’s head and began to cut. They didn’t speak for awhile, content with the sound of scissors snipping and the faint crooning of Myron Wagtail coming from a radio in the corner. Eventually he switched to a razor blade, shaving down the sides and humming along with the music.

Gabriel mumbled a Drying Spell as he ran his hands through Draco’s hair. More strands came out between his fingers, only two or three, but he let them fall to the floor as if it was of no concern. Once Draco’s hair was no longer damp, Gabriel grabbed a jar of paste from a shelf by the mirror. He rubbed it between his hands and said,

“You need to use a matte paste because it will add volume to your hair. I know how difficult it is to stop doing what you’re doing, mate. Believe me, I _know_. But if you keep going you will lose more and it will be noticeable. Until then, the matte shit will give the illusion of thicker hair to offset what you’re losing.”

Draco nodded. Truman styled his hair so it was quite fluffy up top and it looked rather good. Draco stared at his reflection, not quite sure how to feel. He had grown it out after the trial and never thought about cutting it off. He looked different, less like his father, and that was as good a step as any. He stood up and hugged Gabriel as tightly as he could. Gabriel’s hands fell into place along Draco’s spine and held him there. 

“Can I tell Romi about this?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I might like to speak to her. I never knew someone else was like this, let alone that someone has gotten through it.”

“She’s not through it, Draco. Recovering is more than stopping. Romi is still learning to love herself the way she is and I dunno when that battle will be over. God, I hope it's soon, though, because I hate seeing her suffer like this. You will need friends, someone to hold onto that you trust with this.”

“I don’t have anyone I trust with this.”

“You told me.”

“We aren’t close enough for it to matter,” Draco insisted. “You won’t judge me, but Blaise and Theo and, oh, God, Pansy ... I dunno what to do.”

“Just know that you are doing the right thing, mate.” Gabriel let him go and said, “But I’m always here if you need a haircut or, you know, someone to talk to who won’t try to shove Bertie Bott’s down your throat.”


	2. Penelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's parents hate his haircut and he visits Penelope Clearwater for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in February 2007.

Dinner began in silence.

It was spring chicken, braised lettuce, and peas. Draco felt his father's eyes on him; they hadn't eaten together since that day in the study. He stabbed the tines of his fork into a few peas. Peas were easy because they were small, so he started there. Perhaps if he spent enough time on peas, dinner would be over by the time he made it to the chicken.

Draco stabbed his fork into his food as both parents continued to glare at him. His hair looked great, regardless of what they thought. His mother finally cracked the silence.

"I understand the breakup with Astoria was difficult for you, Draco, but this is a bit of an overreaction." She sipped some water and he could only stare in disbelief as she continued. "Do you have any idea how long it will take to grow back?"

Draco shrugged.

"I wanted a change."

"Did you give thought to this at all? If you want a change then you buy new clothes! Have the elves change the colour of the walls in your room or perhaps look for a new girlfriend!"

"I am not looking to date right now," Draco insisted. "I just wanted a change."

His father pressed, "Is that all?"

Draco glared at him and shook his head once. He was not ready for this, not ready to struggle through telling his mother about something he hadn't even begun to come to terms with. Lucius Malfoy rolled his eyes then returned his attention to the chicken. Draco cut his into small pieces. They set about eating, not making any conversation outside of asking the elves to refill their cups. It was easy to get lost in the sound of cutlery clinking against plates.

"Are you planning to make any other changes we should know about?"

"No,” replied Draco, “but would you like me to inform you of my actions from now on, mother? Should I send an owl when I need to use the loo?"

"Why did you choose _this_ change? Is it because you want to look less like your father? So you will look less like our son?"

"No!" Draco insisted. "No, mother, this has nothing to do with you, I just made a decision about my hair! It will grow back."

"Will it?" his father asked.

Draco glared at him again.

Narcissa looked over at her husband and asked, "Why wouldn't it?"

"No reason," Lucius replied. "Just wondering whether Draco plans to keep his hair short forever. Personally, I think he looks like the singer from that band, Ghouls and Roses. Next thing we know he will shave his head and have one of those septum piercings."

"Give it time, father, and I might even get a tattoo. Oh, right, I already have one."

That shut his parents up for a bit. Draco returned to his chicken, cutting the small pieces into smaller pieces. He speared one of the smallest bits on the tines of a fork and ate it. He looked up to see his father watching intently as he swallowed and fought the urge to spit it back onto the plate. Draco hated his father for watching and hated himself for eating, but he couldn't do anything about it. If Draco left, his father would know exactly where he went and what he would do. 

Draco was pulled from his thoughts as a house-elf entered the dining room. It tugged on his sleeve and offered up a thick envelope before waddling back to the kitchen.

Narcissa leaned forward to ask, "Who is that from?"

Draco looked at the Clearwater & Patil label on the envelope, immediately curious. It was thick, like it contained several pieces of parchment inside.

"Who is it from?"

"Padma," Draco said. It wasn't technically a lie. "Not quite sure what it is. Excuse me."

He stood up from the chair and made for his bedroom. He tossed the envelope on the bed, toed off his shoes, then jumped onto the middle of the mattress. He was beyond relieved to be away from dinner and his parents' curious eyes. Draco tore open the envelope and six numbered pieces of parchment fell out, with page one labeled INSTRUCTIONS.

Draco groaned as he swung his legs back over the edge of the bed before making his way to the door. He padded down the hall to his study and plopped into the chair behind his desk. He grabbed a quill and inkpot then set about reading. How bad could the forms be? They had, after all, saved him from having to eat dinner.

The first three pages were harmless. It was basic information, name, age, height, and family history of disease. Draco filled it out from memory, pausing only to wonder whether "my insane Aunty Bella" gave him a predisposition to this sort of thing.

Then came page four and, " **Describe the issue for which you are seeking treatment.** "

Draco closed his eyes and wondered how he had gotten to this point. The only thing lower than starving himself was writing it down for someone else to read. He had cried enough tears for the day, however, and opened his eyes to focus on the five painfully blank lines. Was there a minimum word count, or would short and sweet do?

I have difficulty eating.

Draco bit down on his lip, knowing that was not enough. If he didn't write it down for Penelope, he would have to tell her on Thursday. He mumbled, "Fuck it all," and wrote down as much as he could.

I don't eat unless I can earn my food by running or flying. If I do eat, I head straight to the bathroom afterward to vomit.

Draco did not have anything else to say. Would all the questions be so difficult to answer, or was he simply incapable of doing the bare minimum?

**What caused you to seek treatment?**

Another five lines Draco didn't know how to fill. He could lie, but where would that get him? Draco had the sinking feeling any recovery would feel just like this. Hating himself for being like this at all, then hating himself even more for wanting to move forward.

My hair is falling out.

I am tired of hiding it.

I am sick of feeling like a liar.

Most of all, I hate having my face in the toilet.

Someone knocked on his door and Draco jumped out of his skin. He rushed to cover up the parchment. Upon realizing there was nothing on his desk that would do the job, he opened up a drawer and stuffed the forms inside as his mother opened the study door.

"May I come in?"

Draco nodded. His mother sat down in the chair across from him and waved her hand to close the door. It was his study, but with one simple act she had taken control of the room.

"I believe you are under the impression I am an idiot."

"You did marry father, so I could make a case for it."

His mother smiled wanly and said, "I know you are unwell. Did you think you could hide something like this from me?"

Draco's heart dropped down to his stomach.

"Did a good job of it for years. My only mistake was, apparently, trusting father to keep my confidence."

"Oh, he never told me." Narcissa dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Though he is rotten at keeping secrets and is fit to burst with it. Which is why I have come to see you alone."

Draco grimaced and asked, "How did you figure me out?"

"Astoria insisted you have dinner downstairs with us after she moved in and halfway through the meal you would excuse yourself to the toilet. You would return and play with your food until the meal was over. The first week I thought you had taken ill. Of course, it went on for months and I figured out what was happening. Your father is an unobservant fool in these matters, but I am your mother and you should never assume anything escapes my notice."

"It took more than nine years and a live-in girlfriend for you to notice."

"Nine years?!" she asked, stunned.

"Ten, actually." Draco cleared his throat and said, "But I am handling it."

"Handling it?" Narcisa repeated with a laugh. "You could not even work up the courage to tell me. But the Greengrass girl, she figured you out, too."

"Yes," Draco answered, though it was not a question.

"Those final weeks between you were so strange. She slept in one of the guest rooms so I presumed you were having one of your dramatic moments and it would end. I know you loved her deeply, though why still remains a mystery to me. When the girl finally cornered you outside the dining room, she shouted so loud you would have thought she was training for the opera."

"Oh, God," Draco groaned. He rubbed his eyes and said, "I haven't thought about that argument since it happened."

"A nasty move, ending things just as the Christmas season began."

"Astoria never wanted to hurt me, she only left because I refused to change."

"If I recall correctly, she said, 'I will not watch as you kill yourself from the inside-out.' It is a sentiment shared, my son." Narcissa stood up from the chair. "I do not understand why you chose to trust your father over me with this matter, but I will not press you to do otherwise. All I care for, Draco, is that you are trying to get well. I am your mother and you can come to me in your own time."

**.oOo.**

Penelope Clearwater worked at a quaint office up in Helga's Kitchen. Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the door. He could walk away. He could walk away then use a Memory Charm on his parents and no one would ever know ...

But this was his only option. There was not much room to go backward, the only way was forward. The only way to get well was three stairs up to the bright blue door. He was greeted by the secretary behind the desk, who must have been less than a year out of Hogwarts. She smiled up at him and said,

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. We received your forms yesterday and Miss Clearwater will be out in a few minutes."

Draco nodded his thanks then sat in one of the chairs in the waiting area. The clock on the wall read 9:55. This was his final chance to leave. His hands shook, so Draco shrugged off his coat and wrapped it over one arm before once again taking his seat. It helped a bit.

9:56

There were six chairs in the little alcove across from the secretary. Draco noticed she kept sneaking glances over at him and remembered the confidentiality clause on page six. "We pride ourselves on our discretion and assure you that none of what is seen or said within the walls of Clearwater & Patil will be discussed outside without your consent." Draco had memorised it and repeated it a half-dozen times in his head. No one would know unless he wanted them to.

9:57

The walls were a soothing cream colour and the floors were a dark, cherry wood. He stared at the rug beneath his feet until the pattern became nothing more than a singular lump of colour. Draco took a deep breath and blinked until the room came back into focus. There was a copy of yesterday's _Prophet_ on the table in front of him, and Draco watched Kingsley Shacklebolt blink up at him from the page.

9:58

He thought about the questions on page five. **What are your goals in seeking treatment**? Draco had written, "I want to feel normal again." But what was normal? It was an idea so far away that he didn't know what it looked like anymore. So he added, "I want to be well, so the next time someone tries to love me I feel worthy of it." That felt right.

9:59

Draco resigned himself to this process. It was okay, wasn't it? The final page had asked about his concerns and he left it blank. There were only five available lines and Draco could have filled five pages with, _What are they going to do to me? What if I am the one person for whom this does not work? What if I get halfway through this and I cannot get any further? Will I always be like this?_

10:00

"Draco?"

He looked up to see Penelope Clearwater walking out of the hallway. She hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her. Six months, perhaps? She was pretty, with poofy lips and a wide, toothy smile that made everyone else want to smile along with her. Draco stood up and she said,

"Follow me."

Draco allowed himself to be led a few metres down the hall and into a room on the left. Penelope shut the door behind him and motioned for Draco to take a seat. Penelope's office was bright and airy, a place that could feel safe. There was a large window on the wall to the right of her desk. It was a white glass table, with her chair on one side and two larger chairs on the other. Draco laid his coat overtop one and sat in the other, closest to the door.

Penelope asked, "How are you?"

Draco shrugged.

"You look more than a little nervous."

He asked, "Would it be bad if I said I am fucking terrified right now?"

"You would be far from the first." She Summoned Draco's forms from a shelf behind her and spread them out across the table. "I already knew most of this; no surprises on any of the first few pages. We did go to school together for a bit. Will it be difficult for you to speak with me because of that history?"

Draco shook his head and said, "Better you than someone I don't trust."

Penelope smiled and Draco felt a bit better until she pulled out page four.

"Your responses were very helpful. It is food you have trouble with, and I see you've given a brief overview of your issues on the form. However, I would like you to expand on that."

"Expand on it?"

"Tell me exactly what you eat and what the problems are."

Draco groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Do I have to?"

Penelope shrugged, "I'm getting your money either way, Malfoy, but if you want to work toward a goal of wellness then I need to understand the problem."

Right. Draco leaned back in the chair and stuffed his hands beneath his armpits to conceal their trembling. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about how to describe it. Draco had tried with his father, but it still felt like he did not quite understand what was happening.

"You want to know everything?"

"All your habits."

It all came out in one long rush of breath. 

"Then I should tell you that I never eat unless I have to. I only eat food when people are watching me or if I feel faint. I mean, I am bloody terrified of it, of eating food or speaking about food or even smelling it. If I know I will have to eat, I run around the gardens or at a park until I feel I have earned it. If I eat too much, I vomit it back up."

Draco spoke so fast he wasn't sure Penelope could have understood it all, because he had to say it before he lost his nerve. That was the problem with this whole thing: the more Draco thought about it, the more he wanted to leave.

"Okay." Penelope moved onto page five. "It says here that your goal is to feel normal again. What do you mean by that?"

"I dunno, really."

"Then how do you feel abnormal?"

Draco ground his teeth together for a moment before admitting, "The answer to that question is humiliating."

"If you don't want to speak about it, you do not have to answer the question."

But Draco wanted to. If he didn't admit it to someone, all this would be a waste of time. He thought back on two week earlier, standing in front of his bathroom mirror, pulling more than a dozen loose hairs with a cursory sweep of his fingers. Draco's body was rebelling against him. How many weeks did he have before it gave up altogether?

"I do this because I like being hungry."

"In what way?"

"In every way!" Draco half-shouted. The words just started pouring out. "Hunger does not go from my stomach to my brain like it does with everyone else. When I am hungry, I feel that as success. You see, I have control over something happening to me, and—"

"And now you don't, is that it?" Penelope asked.

"What?"

"That success, as you say, has gotten out of hand. You no longer have control over what is happening to you, and that is why after all these years you finally decided to seek out help."

Draco nodded. Penelope resumed her perusal of page five.

"It says here that your hair is falling out."

Another nod.

"You cut your hair after it began to thin?"

Yet another nod in the affirmative.

"So you exerted control over your body in the only way you could. Do you understand where I am going with this?"

"Yeah," Draco said, exasperated. "I think I do."

"This began in 1996?"

"Yes."

"You should begin there, then."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to tell me how this started. Take me all the way back to the beginning."

Draco winced and asked, "The beginning?" After a moment, he sighed and held up his left forearm. "It began with this."


	3. Nothing You Would Care About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy is hard. Starting recovery is harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: References Food Restriction  
> TW: References to Purging  
> CW: Violence

“He called it a gift.”

Draco didn’t know why he kept frequenting the lavatory on the sixth floor. Crabbe and Goyle could not skip class without being noticed, and it would have been suspicious for all three of them to be absent. Draco should have been in the Room of Requirement, but could not find the will to work.

“Why?”

Draco jumped off the floor a bit, having forgotten Myrtle was present.

“Oh,” he mumbled, “the Dark Lord Marked me as a gift to spare my father. Failing the Dark Lord results in death, but he said if I ...” Draco trailed off. He closed his eyes and repeated the phrase his father said every time he caught Draco on the verge of tears.

_Do not cry over someone who will never cry for you._

The Dark Lord would never shed a tear for anyone, let alone “little Malfoy.” He tilted his head back to rest against the wall.

“There is an impossible task I must accomplish.”

“Or he’ll kill your father?”

“Or else he will kill me.”

Myrtle shouted, “No!” then dove into one of the U-bends. Her fits tended to last about a minute, so Draco adjusted the position of his bum on the floor and covered his ears.

It was a gloomy setting, perfectly suited to his mood. The bathroom was out of the way, hardly used by anyone. The sinks all had chips along the front of the basin. The mirror was cracked almost beyond use and the air was practically freezing. Lit only by a few low-burning candles, this bathroom was safe. Voldemort himself would never think to look for Draco in a place like this.

“Then you must succeed!”

Draco jumped again at Myrtle’s words. She began to float back-and-forth across from him, almost like she was pacing. Myrtle waved an impatient hand at him, wordlessly insisting he agree.

“I have to kill someone.”

“Oh!” Myrtle shouted. A screech that grated the inside of Draco’s ears. “Perfect! They can share my toilet.”

Draco chuckled and admitted, “I doubt he would find that enjoyable.” Before he could say anything more his stomach rumbled.

Myrtle laughed, but Draco shook his head.

“I cannot do it.” He bent forward to rest his head between his knees. “I am not powerful enough or clever enough. The worst part is the Dark Lord knew that.” He felt tears pool in the corners of his eyes and no longer bothered to push them back. “Instead of killing my father, he will murder me while they watch. Use the Cruciatus Curse on me until I have gone mad like Longbottom’s parents. Torture me until my mother is begging the Dark Lord to kill me, to spare me further pain.”

His entire body trembled at the thought. Draco never really considered how it might feel, how much pain he would endure before releasing his hold on sanity. He was used to that sort of pain, the Dark Lord toyed with him every time he set foot in the manor. Until that very moment death had been a distant possibility, but it had suddenly become reality. Unless he managed to kill Headmaster Dumbledore, unless he could fix the cabinet in the Room of Requirement, unless every single bloody star aligned. He dug his fingernails into his trouser legs as his stomach rumbled again. Tears fell freely down Draco’s face, one even ran down the bridge of his nose to fall off the tip.

“I died instantly,” Myrtle whispered. At least, the closest to a whisper she could get. “Can’t imagine anything else.”

Draco swallowed hard before choking on a sob.

“What’s it like to die?”

“Quite easy, really!” Myrtle’s enthusiasm was a tragic misread of the situation. “You just walk it off.”

“The worst part—” Draco pushed himself up to stand on shaking legs. He half-ran to one of the sinks and turned the knob for cold water. Draco splashed it across his face then ran wet fingers through his hair. Every breath shook his ribcage and it was awhile before Draco was calm enough to speak again.

“The worst part is that I was proud! Proud of the Mark, youngest ever to receive it. I am not the Boy Who Lived or the Brightest Wizard of the Age, but I got this! I thought my father would be pleased but it turns out I was nothing more than a pawn on the Dark Lord’s chess board. Now ... Now, I am nothing and I will die for it.”

“Don’t say that!” Myrtle yelled. “Don’t think like that. I can help you! Let me help you!”

Draco shook his head and tightened his grip on the sink.

“No one can help me. I can’t do it! It won’t work unless I do it soon, otherwise He will kill me!”

Draco glanced up at the mirror, and who was in the corner but Harry fucking Potter himself. How had he known to even look in there? Why was he lurking about, and how much had he heard? Draco’s whirled around and withdrew his wand from inside his robe. He instinctively cast a Body-Bind to ensure Potter couldn’t run off and tattle, but it whizzed just over his shoulder. Draco blocked the next jinx as Myrtle shouted,

“No! No! Stop it!” Her screeching echoed off the bathroom tile. “Stop! Stop!” she shouted as the bin behind Potter exploded.

Potter cast a Leg-Locker jinx that bounced off the wall behind Draco’s left ear. Myrtle kept shrieking as every sink’s tap began to run. The toilets overflowed and Potter slipped on one of the puddles, hitting the floor with a loud thwack! And right there on the ground was the root of Draco’s misery. If this stupid bastard had just died any of the dozen times the Dark Lord attempted to kill him, Draco would not be fearing for his own life. He wasn’t angry at Potter, not really, but he was angry with so many people and Potter was right there on his arse.

Draco raised his wand and shouted, “Cruci—”

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

Draco felt the skin of his chest rip open and stumbled backward with the force of it. The wound did not hurt at first, like the pain needed a moment to follow. Then it happened again, then his cheek split open and the front of his shirt was damp. Draco glanced down to see his robes had been torn apart and his white button-down was tinted pink.

The pain hit all at once, so much that Draco could not pinpoint a source, and he curled in on himself. Draco pushed his palms against the wounds on his chest, gushing blook. He slipped and hit the floor with a loud splash. Draco’s vision whited out and his whole body began to seize. He heard Potter mumble frantically near his ear, 

“No ... no ... no ...” 

He heard Myrtle screech, “MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!”

It sounded as though she was at the opposite end of a tunnel. His head spun as he lost control of his limbs, flailing and splashing about until they went limp in what looked like a pool of Draco’s blood. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to fate.

Killed by Harry Potter would be far easier than a death at the hands of the Dark Lord. At least Potter would probably feel guilty about it. Draco heard Snape’s voice enter the cacophony as the pain ebbed. He blinked, then next thing Draco knew he was halfway to the Hospital Wing. He allowed himself to be led. Over the next few days Draco was examined, poked, prodded, and plied with potions ... And he controlled none of it.

**.oOo.**

Draco recalled, “I had not been to the Great Hall in days.” When Penelope asked how many, he said, “Too many to remember. By that time, early May, I think? My whole life at school was a cycle of waking up, working on trying to stay alive, failing at it, hiding in the loo, then heading back to the dormitory. Then wake up and repeat. I know Snape was about to begin personally escorting me from class to class, so at least Potter spared me that.”

Penelope hummed and asked, “Why do you mark that moment as the beginning?”

Draco frowned.

“How could I not?”

“Were you intentionally avoiding food, or were you avoiding everything?”

“Before that moment, I avoided everything until I couldn’t. When I lost control of my body like that, I realized I had lost control of the only thing I had left. Over the next few days I had to recover in the Hospital Wing, so I hardly ate anything. It took a bit of time to recover, so when I was released being hungry felt normal. I did not want to be any other way.”

“Did you like that feeling?”

Draco nodded.

“That explains how you began restricting your food intake. Why did you start purging?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ah,” Penelope placed her quill in the ink jar. She blew lightly on the ink before placing the parchment off to the side. “The vomiting is what I mean. We call it purging.”

Hadn’t Gabriel mentioned that? Draco had been so lost in his memories he hadn’t noticed Penelope taking notes. He began cracking his knuckles with his thumb.

“That is a more recent development.”

“How recent?”

“I would say six months ago.”

“What changed six months ago?”

Draco snapped, “Are we done?”

Without missing a beat, Penelope said, “Nearly so. I am going to need you to look at me for this bit.”

He begrudgingly looked up to meet her gaze. Penelope smiled at him softly, and Draco trusted her to be gentle with whatever blow she was about to deliver.

“Draco, you are anorexic.”

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “I am a what, exactly?”

“You have anorexia.”

Draco frowned, shook his head, and returned his gaze to a point on Penelope’s desk. He felt weak. He had spent so much of the past week fighting just to get to this moment. Once the time arrived, however, all the fight left him like a quick exhale.

“Anorexia.”

He repeated it back, and the word tasted like bad pumpkin juice. Draco scrunched his nose and leaned back in his chair, disgusted.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t like it. It sounds ... ‘Anorexia’ sounds disgusting. Part of me is so fucking relieved to know it has a name, but a name also makes it real. I cannot say that name feels right.”

“Does anything about your body feel right?”

“No.”

“Exactly. None of this is meant to feel right. This disease is not uncommon in the Muggle world and—”

Draco rested his elbows on his knees and allowed his head to fall into his hands. 

“Oh my God. This is a Muggle disease? I have a Muggle disease, Merlins’ fucking ass, my father is going to murder me.”

“Draco, look at me.”

He obliged Penelope, begrudgingly. She insisted, 

“This is not a Muggle disease, it is a human one. You are human, aren’t you?”

“Yes, so is there a potion I can take or—”

“No. You told me you have been dealing with this for ten years. Did you really believe your illness could be solved in one day with one antidote?”

“I hoped so, but I will admit it sounds a bit silly now.”

“Yes, and I will develop a treatment plan for you by this time next week. I would like to see you once a week and you can schedule appointments with Lila at the front desk. How many meals do you skip or purge every day?”

Draco answered, “Two,” without thought. Penelope continued to scribble on her parchment for a moment then paused until Draco looked up at her again. He was not sure why it was so difficult to meet her eyes.

“That means you skip fourteen meals a week, and this week I want you to get it down to seven.”

“I ...” Draco was confused. “Did I miss the part where you get me to stop?”

“If I told you to stop, would you?”

“No, but—”

“Then we will start with seven. Malfoy, I ought to have begun with this, but you cannot cure this illness like it’s Spattergroit or the Black Cat Flu. You have to want to change.”

“I am here, aren’t I?!”

“Yes, but you have to want to change more than you cling to that feeling of control. And since you are brave enough to seek help on your own, I know you have the strength to recover.”

“I am not brave,” Draco spat, “I am desperate.”

“Well bravery without desperate circumstances isn’t worth much, is it?” Before Draco could respond, Penelope pointed her quill at him and said, “Seven.”

“And this is it?” he asked. “This is all we do?”

“This is not the hard part. The difficulty in this process is what happens once you leave this room. I am a benchmark, Draco, a way for you to process your emotions and how they relate to this disease. Also a way for you to hold yourself accountable. Your hour is up now.”

Draco stood up and grabbed his coat.

“How long does this usually take?”

“Recovery?” Penelope asked. “A year, perhaps longer. You have to recognize that you suffered through this for a decade and it will take time to undo that damage.”

Draco nodded and thanked her before walking out the door. He walked to the secretary’s desk and paid for his visit. 

“Are Thursdays a good day for you?”

Draco nodded. Then again, he would have nodded at just about anything. He wanted to get out of that office as quickly as possible. Draco wanted to fall back into his routine and feel something familiar. 

The secretary confirmed, “Ten o’clock to eleven? I have you scheduled through April.”

“Can I pay for all of them right now?” Draco asked.

The secretary, Lila van Ravensway by the name plate, opened her mouth then closed it again without making a sound. She shrugged and said,

“Why not?”

Draco handed over the ten Galleons per session and said, “If I pay for all of them, I have more incentive to show up.”

“Didn’t think you would need much incentive to show up and talk about yourself.”

It had been ages since Draco had heard that voice. He rapped his knuckles against the secretary’s desk before turning around.

“Granger.”

“Malfoy.”

“Nice haircut.”

Draco surveyed her up and down before saying, “Nice ... jumper?”

Hermione laughed. An actual laugh that reached her eyes, and Draco found himself smiling for the first time since he walked through the door of Clearwater and Patil. Granger pulled her hair back then began buttoning up her coat. 

“You really know how to charm a girl.”

Draco shrugged his coat on and said, “Sorry, it has been a very strange morning.”

“First day?” she guessed. “This is week four of my employer-mandated counseling. It gets easier as it goes on.”

“The Ministry sent you to counseling?”

“Yeah, I, um ...” Hermione shrugged. “Minister Shacklebolt thought it’d be good for me because I threw a book at the Hungarian Minister for Magic.”

Draco winced.

“I can attest to the strength of your throwing arm.”

“He referred to house-elves as ‘tidy goblins!’”

Draco laughed and said, “Then he is fortunate to have escaped with his life.”

“Very much so,” Granger said, a smile still gracing her face. “So what are you in for?”

Draco’s stomach felt like it shrank to the size of a chickpea. He didn’t know how to tell anyone he was ill, much less whether he wanted to.

“Nothing you would care about,” he said. “Be seeing you next week, then.” And he dashed toward the door. Once he had hopped down the steps, Draco turned to look back at Clearwater and Patil. 

Session one was over; his illness had a name and a way out. But as he looked up at that bright blue door, Draco admitted he was hiding things, even from Penelope. He had much further to go and the end was nowhere in sight.

**.oOo.**

Draco visited Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes every Thursday morning. It was later than usual when he pushed through the front door. Draco sped to the register to see the usual cashier; an unremarkable kid, no more than nineteen, who was far too peppy in the morning.

“Malfoy!” the kid shouted. “I’ve been expecting you! Got your usual order right here on the shelf ...”

Draco cleared his throat and the kid stopped speaking.

“I need you to cut my order in half.”

“Oh. Okay! You know these are good for a full year, right? Mr. Weasley tells me I should say they’re only good for six months, but you’re a good customer and you never yell at me, so I figure I should tell you the real expiration date. Some of the people who come in here, you would not believe! Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t set the prices so why would someone yell at me over the cost of a box of Demon Dung?”

“Just seven, please.” Draco sighed, knowing he would regret this on Tuesday.

“Why don’t you buy in bulk?”

“Because it gives me an excuse to get out of the manor every week.”

It was a lame excuse, but the kid seemed to buy it as he turned around to retrieve Draco’s order. The truth was that he only ever bought a week’s supply because every week he hoped it would be the last week he would use them. Draco anxiously tapped his knuckles against the counter and wondered whether he could do this. Was it possible to recover, or was he too far gone? The cashier placed his order on the counter and rang it up. Draco paid for the seven and grabbed the small bag as the kid said,

“I snuck an extra one in there for you.” He paused before asking, “What do you do with so many of them, anyway?”

Draco smiled sadly down at the bag of orange and purple candies in his hand. He could say it. He could admit his weakness to a person who knew nothing about him. That would be alright, wouldn’t it? But then the kid would know. Hell, he might never sell them to Draco again if he knew. Even if he did, the kid would judge Draco every time he walked into the shop. He would look at Draco, eyes filled with pity, and there was absolutely nothing worse than that. In the end, all Draco said was, 

“It is nothing you would care about.”


	4. You Only Have to Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco falls right back into old habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Purging / Vomiting

Draco began to measure days by awkward meals with his parents.

As he began cutting the roast pheasant, his mind wandered back to his therapy session with Penelope. She seemed to know the right questions to ask, and there was never a moment when she judged his decisions—positively or negatively. There was one particular phrase he kept turning over in his head.

_Bravery without desperate circumstances isn’t worth much._

He never considered seeking out help to be brave, but Penelope had a point. Maybe five years earlier it would have been easier to ask for help. Six or seven, even ... But at the moment when he really needed it, no one thought to ask if he was okay. If no one believed Draco had a problem, then how could he?

“Did your ...” Lucius Malfoy paused to reconsider his phrasing. He stared at his plate, silverware frozen comically, mid-cut. “Do you consider today a success?”

“Am I cured, you mean?” Draco ate a bite of pheasant as his parents watched. He ate another and said, “No, but it was different.”

His mother asked, “Do you feel better than you did yesterday?”

Draco shrugged.

“When are you going back?”

“Next Thursday. Every Thursday through April, in fact.”

“So you will be well by May?”

Draco laughed and said, “Not likely, but I believe Penelope is my best option. My only option, really. I considered asking for Padma or Parvati, but they are too close to everything ...” He trailed off. “Too close to who I used to be.”

“Good then,” his father said. He resumed eating dinner and considered the matter closed.

While his father was ignorant, Draco felt his mother’s skeptical eyes on him. He took a sip of water from his glass, considering how difficult his illness would be to hide now that she knew he was sick. Then again, she only ever saw as much as she wished to see. If he pretended to make progress she would believe it. Draco would do anything to get her to stop watching him like he was incapable of breathing on his own.

Draco forced a smile as he ate his pheasant. His father prattled on about business interests that Draco never listened to, opting instead to pop half a Brussels sprout into his mouth and peel back each layer with his tongue. The longer it took to eat one sprout, the less he would actually need to eat. Draco counted each of the minutes until he would be excused, like he did when he was five years old.

Draco allowed his mind to wander. He thought about seeing Theo next Saturday. Theo with his wife and his kids. The best, happiest family Draco could imagine. Draco thought about Blaise and how happy he was with Dean Thomas. Blaise was fretting over his ideas for a proposal, each of which was more outrageous than the last. Draco thought about Romilda Vane, who only suffered for two years before getting help because someone she loved cared enough to notice. Draco had been content to inhabit others’ successes and avoid moving forward on his own. He would see their smiles and walk in their shadows, continuing to hope that one day he would have that life, too. Perhaps recovery was the first step.

At the end of the meal, Draco’s parents looked at his empty plate as though it was a sign of hope. Like one session with Penelope had made him forget every terrible thing that happened, every inadequacy, every fear. Draco forced a smile and asked, 

“Are we done?”

They nodded. Draco grabbed his empty glass and walked to the door at what felt like a glacial pace. He forced himself to walk, not run, up the stairs and to his bedroom where everything would return to something that felt less vile. After a full day of baring his soul and mucking up every routine he cultivated over the past decade, there was only one outlet. One blessedly familiar way for all the stress to leave his body at once.

The lock on his bedroom door clicked into place and he went through the next few minutes almost without thought. Draco pointed his wand at the glass and muttered _Aguamenti_. He watched the water flow from the tip of his wand and the tension ebbed immediately as the first thunk of liquid hit the bottom of the glass. It filled to the brim then Draco discarded his wand on the bed. 

He took a deep breath then chugged half the glass. Draco closed his eyes as cool water washed away the taste of dinner. He paused to wipe his mouth with the side of his wrist. He shook his head to clear his thoughts before downing the rest of the glass at once. Draco tossed it onto the bed then toed off his shoes. He pulled his jumper over his head then discarded it and made for the bathroom.

Lighting in the bathroom was different from the rest of the manor. It was brighter, airier, with a colour palette of bright white and muted golds. He cringed as he paused in the doorway, allowing himself a moment to reconsider. The tub was on the far wall below the window, with a shower to the right and vanity on the left. Draco sighed and wished for darkness so he wouldn’t have to see himself in these moments of weakness. 

He grabbed a towel from one of the cabinets and folded it in half before laying it at the base of the toilet. Draco waved his hand and the seat flipped up, clanging loudly against the back. He stopped to touch the rim of the toilet, the recognizable feel of cool porcelain beneath his fingers. Next, he stood to open a small drawer on the right side of the cabinet below the sink. Nondescript, the sort of place where no one would think to look for anything. Draco stared at the bag of orange and purple candies inside with Penelope’s voice in his head.

_Seven._

Draco did not have to do this. He hated the familiarity of it all. He could shut the drawer and hide beneath his bedsheets until the urge went away. But it would come back and he would spend every moment thinking about this missed opportunity until his next meal, when the process began all over again. 

Draco grabbed one of the Puking Pastilles and bit off the orange end.

It took five seconds from the time he swallowed the candy until he felt a familiar tug halfway down his throat. He knelt in front of the toilet, knees on either side of the base cushioned only by a bath towel, and gripped the basin as the first burn of vomit shot up from his stomach. He lurched forward as the greyish-brown slush of half-digested pheasant passed his lips and plopped into the toilet. Before Draco could breathe, he lurched forward again as another half-cup of stomach contents shot across his tongue. The bile tasted horrible, but it felt so fucking good to get rid of the weight in his stomach. He tightened his grip on the porcelain basin and braced for more.

The third heave was fine; there was more to come but Draco had run out of breath. He tried to force the fourth round back a moment, but instead he sucked in air right as he vomited again. Some of it shot up into his nasal cavity and burned in his nostrils as the rest fell into the toilet and splashed back up onto his face. He coughed and reached for napkins without moving his face from the toilet bowl. Draco hardly had time to wipe it away before he vomited again.

The cycle continued for three minutes. All the while, Draco thought about nothing but getting everything out of his system. His eyes watered, whether from the pain or humiliation he was never quite sure. Draco had the Dark Lord’s voice in his head grumbling,

“In the toilet where you belong, like a piece of shit.”

Draco’s body shook once his stomach was empty. He dry-heaved a few times before grabbing the purple piece of candy with a trembling hand and stuffing it down his throat. Draco fell back against the bathtub and took heavy, ragged breaths until his hands stopped shaking. He was dizzy and flushed, snot streamed out from his nose and beads of spittle clung to the edge of his lower lip. He closed his eyes against the light to quell his headache and waved his hand one final time so the contents of the toilet bowl were flushed out of sight. 

Then he cried.

There was no single tear that tracked down his face, no watery buildup or pressure behind his eyes to signal it was coming. He was just too weak to keep it in. Draco hated himself for doing this and felt like he was disappointing Penelope. He hadn’t even made it ten hours from his appointment without falling back into the very thing he was trying to recover from. He was disappointing his parents, his friends, and even Hermione Granger who would laugh in his face if she knew this was how he ended every night.

Draco paused long enough to wash his mouth with a breath-freshening potion he kept on the countertop, heavy on the mint. He spat it out then pulled off his socks once the tears started up again. He wiped them away and shirked his trousers. He wiped away some snot with the side of his hand then pulled off his pants. Draco turned the knobs on the bathtub so the water was just on the cool side of scalding and sat inside. He pulled his knees up to his chest and balanced his forehead between them. His shoulders shook with the force of the sobs being pulled from his chest. 

He closed the tub’s drain with his foot and waited, soothed by the sound of rushing water as it drowned out the rest of the world. He couldn’t even hear himself blubbering. Nine-and-a-half years he’d been ignoring food, and nine-and-a-half years he had concealed it just fine. Only after he started vomiting up meals had his body begun its rebellion. 

Penelope said this disease— _anorexia_ , he reminded himself—was a human disease. However, his humanity felt furthest away in these moments. The “purging” was a high because he could get rid of everything that bothered him. Everything that made him less-than, every part of himself that his father ever considered worthless. “Purging” rid him of Draco and kept the Malfoy; it removed the parts of himself he did not want to see. Eating food meant being full, full meant being whole, and Draco was not ready for that. Not ready to feel things the way normal people did, to process emotions and understand why he felt all that rage and guilt and everything else he was too goddamn scared to touch. 

There was something to remind him of his failures everywhere he looked. Even right there in the bathroom. The vanity had two sinks because his room was meant to be shared. Draco had lost every person who ever loved him because of this disease with its nasty name, and everything came back to one simple fact:

Draco was doing this to himself.

He sat there and let the water rise around him, head between his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. He stopped crying after a few minutes, the burn in his throat too painful for more. Once the water hit the lip of the bathtub, Draco pulled the drain open and listened to the water filter out before closing the drain and filling it up again. 

**.oOo.**

Draco did not get out of bed on Friday morning. He stayed beneath the blankets until well past noon. Sometime around two, he wrapped himself in a sheet and padded back into the bathroom. Draco’s reflection was disgusting. His hair stood up in antigodlin spikes, his eyelids heavy and hooded as he grabbed a toothbrush. It was a horrid feeling, even after he brushed his teeth and and wiped the crust from the corners of his eyes. His problem had never been on the outside; his guilt remained but there was nothing left in his stomach to purge. 

The first step in recovering from days like this was to put on clothes. He pulled on pyjama pants and a Slytherin Quidditch t-shirt. Still cold, he put a jumper on as well. Draco curled up against his pillows and spent hours convincing himself not to go for a run. Was running cheating, or was he allowed that much? He would have to ask Penelope. 

Draco’s face was pressed into a pillow when someone knocked on his door. He groaned and groped for his wand on the bedside table. He grumbled, _Alohamora_ , then tossed his wand haphazardly in the direction of the nightstand without looking up.

“How are you, my son?”

Draco mumbled something along the lines of, “Bluuuugh.” He heard Narcissa shut the door behind her and felt the bed dip as she sat on the end. 

“I know I said you could come to me in your own time, but I am disappointed you have not done so.”

Draco sat up and said, “This is why, mother. I don’t want to deal with your disappointment.”

Narcissa smiled sadly and offered him a bowl of raspberries and sliced bananas. Draco couldn’t help but smile, since it had always been his favourite snack. Back when he wasn’t afraid of snacks, anyway. Draco popped a raspberry into his mouth as his mother spoke again.

“I understand, Draco, I do. I want you to get well, so I do not want you eating dinner with your father and I in the dining room.”

Draco raised a confused eyebrow.

“I thought that would be exactly what you wanted; to keep an eye on me.”

“Yes, that is what I want,” Narcissa admitted. She stole a raspberry from the bowl and tossed it in her mouth just as Draco had done. God, it felt like he was eleven again, asking questions about Hogwarts, so excited he packed his trunk weeks in advance. “But I know that what I want is not what is best for you now. You need time to heal and you cannot do that if your father and I are staring at you each time you pick up a fork.”

Draco thought his mother must have been having a rough go of it because she’d left her hair down and chosen a casual navy robe for the day. She was always so put-together, and Draco realized this was taxing her far more than it was his father.

“You understand me better than he does.”

“Yes,” his mother replied with a laugh, “but that is true of most things. I did not fall in love with your father because of his empathy, Draco. Fifty years and he is still fairly ignorant of others’ emotions.”

“Why did you fall in love with him, then?”

“Power. We both wanted to create a world where Pureblood wizards ruled everyone, and others were subject to our whims. Completely foolish, of course, but your father was very handsome and persuasive, not to mention he had a great bum.”

Draco scrunched his nose and popped another raspberry into his mouth.

“That is so gross.”

“We were meant to be.” She ran her fingers through Draco’s hair and frowned when five strands came loose with little effort. “I should have seen your illness sooner. The only thing I can do now is ease the healing process, and if that means giving you a bowl of berries every day, I can do that.”

Draco admitted, “I do not know what I need. Perhaps having dinner on my own will be easier, but I feel like there has to be something more. Something else, something quicker.”

His mother shook her head.

“That thinking is the cause of your problem. Do not put high expectations on yourself because you believe it is what I need you to be, or what your father needs you to be. The path you walk now must be your own, otherwise you will only remain well as long as you can please us. You feel out of place, out of mind because you slipped too far away from who you want to be. Find your way back, but do not rush. Ease into it, Draco. You are on foreign ground right now and that is why you feel so uncertain and misunderstood.”

Draco nodded and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug.

“I feel like I failed you and father. Penelope said it may take a year or longer to recover! I told Penelope I wanted to be normal, but I do not even remember what that feels like. Sometimes I think I may be too far gone to ever be healthy again.”

“Nothing ever lasts, and nothing in your life will ever stay except your family. Your father and I lost sight of that once, but we will not do it again. We will do what you need us to do, and if that means backing away for a bit then we will do it.”

“Okay,” Draco mumbled. He was exhausted, though the most energy he’d exerted was taking the seven steps from his bed to the bathroom.

“If I ever gave you a reason to doubt that I love you, I am sorry. You have not failed me or your father, you just have to try to get well, Draco. You only have to try.”


	5. Can't Remember? Can't Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a week.

Draco resolved to keep to Penelope’s requested seven. 

One “purge” on Thursday and one skipped lunch on Friday left him with five remaining. How could he define those moments of weakness? Five _what_? Draco did not have the language to speak about what was happening to him, and that was the most frustrating part of the process. Every time Draco gained ground on this illness it felt like he was knocked two steps backward. He needed a routine, one that would satisfy Penelope’s requirements without leaving him in a downward spiral.

** Saturday **

Draco woke up at eight.

He had minestrone soup for lunch then changed into a pair of trackies and his running jacket. He ran around the Marjoribanks Gardens until he forgot he had eaten anything at all. Then he ran until the hunger returned.

Draco skipped dinner.

** Sunday **

Draco woke up at nine.

He had vegetable soup for lunch then grabbed yesterday’s trackies off the floor. He pulled on a new t-shirt with the same running jacket and returned to the Marjoribanks Gardens. Draco ran until he couldn’t breathe, paused, then ran five kilometres more. 

Draco skipped dinner.

** Monday **

Draco woke up at ten.

The elves made him a salad for lunch. He looked at it and wondered whether bowls had always been that big. There must have been an entire head of lettuce in there, but as he ate it felt like nothing at all. Tomatoes and little bacon bits, it was all sort of nice. An owl came that afternoon with a letter from Romilda Vane, asking to have lunch on Wednesday.

His run was a little shorter that evening and Draco had another salad for dinner.

** Tuesday **

Draco woke up at six, regret clawing its way up from his stomach and resting in his throat.

All he could think about was two meals in one day. He would gain weight and give everyone another reason to hate him. Or worse, another reason to dismiss him outright. At ten minutes after six, Draco half-fell into the bathtub and wiped vomit from the corner of his mouth. There had been moments when it felt like life might, in fact, get better. What changed from the time his head hit the pillow and sunrise? 

He skipped dinner.

** Wednesday **

Draco woke up at seven, dreading the day.

He pulled on jeans, a t-shirt, and a silver robe. Then he waited. He found work to do but was grateful when noon rolled around so he could meet Romilda Vane at a cafe in Horizont Alley. She was already outside, ready with food and drinks when he arrived.

“You certainly don’t waste time.”

Romilda stood up to give him a hug and Draco returned it with his arms around her shoulders. He was always surprised by how tall she was, maybe half a head shorter than him. He hadn’t been stroking Gabriel’s ego, Romilda was gorgeous. She had dark, corkscrew curls that fell past her shoulders and full lips. But Draco had learned fairly quickly that if she was smiling at you, you had best run quickly in the opposite direction. How the bloody hell Gabriel Truman landed someone this gorgeous and wicked smart was beyond Draco’s comprehension. 

“Time isn’t meant to be wasted,” Romilda said. She nodded for him to sit. “I hated trying to decide what to eat in front of people, so I decided for you.”

Draco sighed. He had hoped there would be some small talk, a way to ease into this conversation, but Romilda was never one for avoiding the point. Draco took the seat across from her. There were at least a dozen people in the small cafe, the din just loud enough to hide their conversation from any accidental eavesdroppers.

“How are you?”

“Honestly? I feel worse now than I did this time last week.”

“That happens.” Romilda leaned forward to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It gets more difficult before it gets any easier. Gabriel had to drag me to therapy. Literally, the first three weeks he physically pulled me through the door because I refused to admit there was a problem.”

“At least you have someone who cares enough about you to do that,” Draco countered.

“Sure, but I see you differently.”

“How?”

“Right, we are going to play a game. You see these chips?” Draco nodded as Romilda pushed the basket of chips to the middle of the table. “You can ask me a question, but for every answer you have to eat one.”

Draco’s stomach turned.

“I would rather not.”

“Look, the thing that helped me at first was taking food and changing the way I look at it. I ate it and felt bad, so I started trying to associate it with something good. Now, if you don’t want to eat the chips, that is fine. We can chat about the weather and Gabe’s bum for as long as you like.”

“Are you not concerned that I will simply eat them now and remove myself of the burden later?”

Romilda laughed.

“‘Remove yourself of the burden?’ Oh, you have a long road ahead, Malfoy.”

“Let’s make it shorter, then.” Draco picked up a chip and ignored every negative thought clawing up from the back of his mind. He took a deep breath and ate it, chewing and swallowing as quickly as he could. “Tell me why you see me differently.”

“To start, what you and I have, it’s not the same.”

“Sorry?”

“I’ve never skipped a meal,” Romilda said. “I would eat three, four, or five meals in a day then vomit them back up.”

“Ugh,” Draco groaned, unable to hide his disgust. “Why would you do that?”

“Are you judging me right now?” she teased.

“No, but ... How could you keep that up for so long? Was it not a revolting feeling?”

“Oh yeah,” Romilda conceded. “But food, to me, was a rush. I loved it, ate a ton of sweets and heavy foods. I felt like the rest of my life was so empty this was the only way I felt like a whole person. Then I was terrified of gaining weight, looking like a bloody porker, you know? You, on the other hand, don’t want to touch food at all.”

Draco was not sure how to feel about that. Some horrible part of him felt a bit superior; at least he had self control. He also felt awful for Romilda; he hated vomiting once or twice a day and had only been doing it for a handful of months. To put herself through that four times a day for years? Draco couldn’t even imagine the hell it must have been.

Mostly, however, he felt alone. Draco thought he had found someone like him, but Romilda could only understand to a point.

“How did you tell people?”

Romilda pushed the chips toward him, so Draco popped another into his mouth before she answered.

“I didn’t. Gabriel said he told you how he found out. That was the single most embarrassing, horrifying moment of my life. I felt so guilty piling it all on him, but I never told anyone else.”

Draco ate another chip and asked, “Why not?”

“They would look at me differently. I spent years manipulating my body to avoid that very thing.”

Draco nodded then ate another chip.

“What changed? Why did you finally start trying to get better?”

Romilda gave him a sad smile.

“My therapist told me that if I kept doing what I was doing, I would die. That was never what I wanted. The thought of Gabriel watching me wither away, the thought of him watching me ...” She choked off the end of that thought. “I couldn’t do that to him. Not to the one person in my life who made me feel like I was the most important person in theirs. She asked me, ‘Is this disease more important than your relationship?’ And no, it’s not and it never has been. Figured if Gabriel loves me then I ought to love myself, too.”

“Huh.” Draco ate a few more chips as he pondered that answer. There was no one in his life who fit that description. “Was it really so easy?”

“Oh, no,” she scoffed. “You and me, Malfoy, neither one of us really wants to be sick. You have a therapist now, yeah?”

He nodded.

“It starts off okay. You trust them because they will never judge you. So you talk and over time you start to realize you don’t do this out of vanity or even out of a need for control. You do it because something happened to you and nobody fucking cared.”

Draco scrunched his nose and said, “That does not sound quite right.”

“That is what I thought, and my therapist has a good laugh about it now. But one day you will look back and see that no one cared and so you never learned to take care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”

“You do?”

“I am getting help, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are!” Romilda insisted. “And that makes you so much braver than I was. You are doing this on your own; no one has to pull you through the door. You realize you have a problem and will do anything to fix it.”

“Exactly!”

“But do you truly think you know yourself well enough to understand what is happening to you?”

“Of course—”

Romilda held up the empty basket of chips.

“This was full when you sat down ten minutes ago, and I only had one.”

Draco frowned. He remembered eating three chips, but he forgot to count. He always counted. Draco felt less hungry than usual, but had he truly eaten the full basket without so much as a thought? God, the last time he ate something and didn’t remember every bite ... He must have been eighteen.

“How the hell did you do that?”

Romilda smiled.

“Step one is eating in front of someone who won’t judge you for what you do with it afterward.”

Draco grimaced and admitted, “Eating dinner has been easier without my parents hovering.”

“Of course it is, because food has to be something you do for yourself.”

“Well, I don’t remember eating most of these. I suppose if I cannot remember, then I cannot regret it.”

“You don’t regret it because this meal was not about food,” Romilda said. “It’s about friends.”

Draco did not bother to hide his skepticism and asked, “Does that work?”

“Only one way to find out.”

**.oOo.**

Draco Apparated to Clearwater & Patil at 9:59 the next morning. No need to wait around in their tiny lobby like the previous Thursday. It would only give him time to consider walking away. Draco did not have enough confidence in himself to stay. He jumped up the steps and flung the blue door open before he could stop himself. 

“Morning, Mr. Malfoy!” Lila van Ravensway smiled up at him from the secretary’s desk. Just like the kid at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, far too peppy for so early in the morning. She gestured to the tiny alcove and said, “Welcome back! Miss Clearwater should be out—”

“Malfoy.”

Penelope appeared in the hallway and beckoned him over. She smiled and he felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit. Penelope had left her hair down and wore a green robe that must have cost quite a few Galleons. Then again, she could afford it at ten Galleons an hour. Draco nodded at Lila before following Penelope into her office.

The anxiety that left Draco when he first saw Penelope made a quick return the second he heard the click of her door falling closed. He swallowed thickly and sat in the same chair as the previous week. Penelope did not say a word as he shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the back of the other chair. He could not meet her eyes.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” Draco mumbled, staring resolutely at the table. 

“How was your week?”

“Also fine.”

“How did your family react to your first week of recovering?”

“I would hardly call it recovery,” Draco countered. He began kneading one palm with his thumb. “I couldn’t even make it a day after my appointment without vomiting up a meal.”

“How many meals did you skip or purge since we last met?”

Draco ran through each of the days in succession. There was one on Thursday, followed by one on Friday. He skipped dinner on Saturday and Sunday, which made four. Two full meals on Monday were cancelled out by one “purge” and one skipped meal on Tuesday. He had a fruit bowl for dinner the previous night, so ...

“Oh my God,” he realized. Draco’s brow furrowed and his jaw dropped open. “Six.”

“Six?” Penelope confirmed.

“Yeah, I ... I only skipped six.” Draco looked up to see Penelope giving him a toothy grin. He had to smile back. Last Thursday he had been on the floor in his bathroom, sobbing at the prospect of not meeting her expectations. It appeared he exceeded them. “I never believed that would happen.”

“Isn’t it remarkable what can happen when you try?”

Draco laughed and said, “My mother said something similar.”

“A wise woman, then. Did anything happen this week that you wish to tell me about?”

“There were so many highs and lows that I am not sure we can cover them all. The biggest step forward was probably that I stopped eating dinner with my parents.”

“Is that working well?”

“It certainly made things easier. I also had lunch with Romilda Vane yesterday. She is Gabriel’s girlfriend; the one who also has a ... a condition.” He didn’t quite know what to call it. Romilda had not given her illness a name. “She said she is not anorexic but seemed to understand most of what I was feeling before I even had the words to say it.”

Penelope nodded and asked, “Was it nice to speak to someone with a shared experience?”

“Clearly you have never met Romilda. In conversations, she generally does most of the speaking.”

Penelope smiled but did not say anything. She was unwilling to give him a way out, and that was the most frustrating thing about this “therapy” process. Penelope forced him to speak until he found an answer she already seemed to know.

“Romilda said some things that put me at ease, a bit. She understands food is not always food, and that is not something I can explain to a person who has never dealt with this. However, she also said she leaned heavily on Gabriel for support and I never want to put all of this onto one person. Then I wonder who my person would even be, and realize there is something that needs to be done before I can really consider myself to be moving forward in this.”

“Which is what?”

Draco pulled one leg beneath him and hissed a shaky breath out through his teeth.

“I want to tell people about this.”

“If you feel that is what you want to do.” Penelope paused until Draco looked up. “But I would caution you against it, at least on a large scale. If you become this disease in their eyes, then it will be difficult to keep you from seeing yourself the same way.”

“I am not going to take an ad in the _Prophet_ , I just think my friends should know.”

“That can be helpful, but haven’t you already spoken to some of your friends and family?”

“My mother figured me out while Gabe and Romilda are people I know casually. It is far easier to speak about this with strangers than it is the people I care most about.”

“Why do you believe that is?”

Draco shrugged.

“The people I have told do not know me, do they? Not really. Gabriel is a friend I see a few times each year. He is several years older than me, Romilda is three years younger than me, so our paths have never crossed on any consistent basis. My father has considered me a failure from the time I was five, if not earlier. But the mere thought of telling Theo ... I dunno.”

“I think you do.”

Draco groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he looked at her again, Penelope was looking at him, quill ready in her hand. 

“I just have to wonder ... I know he will look at me differently. Everyone does, watching me like I am made of glass that may break the moment I touch a fork. But what if Theo looks back and sees the rest of our friendship differently?”

“Why would he?”

“Because he never saw anything!” Draco shouted. “Every important moment of the past ten years; his wedding, the birth of the twins, hell, he was one of the ones who pushed me toward Astoria. There was not a single one of those moments when I was not starving. What if he never trusts me again?”

“Are you referring to Astoria Greengrass?”

Draco popped his knuckles as he answered, “Yes. She was my girlfriend for nearly a year.”

“It ended?”

“Penelope, you must have heard.”

“Whether or not I heard about whom you may or may not have been dating does not matter,” she countered. “You need to figure out for yourself where that piece fits in.”

Draco shook his head and said, “No, I am not going to talk about it. About her, I mean.”

“Then what would you like to talk about?”

“Is there a way to explain what is happening to me?” Draco asked. “If I use the words you give me—”

“Anorexia.”

Draco cringed.

“I hate that word. I don’t want to use it, and even if I did my friends would not understand what it means.”

Penelope stowed her quill in the ink jar and folded her hands on the table.

“Your illness falls into a broader category of eating disorders.”

“Even that sounds loads better!”

Penelope smiled at him in soft exasperation.

“When you tell people, Draco, you do not have to say you are anorexic. There are dozens of ways to say it, you only have to figure out which of them feels best. But it may also vary based on the person you are speaking to.”

“How do you mean?”

“For example, you mentioned Theo? Is he your closest friend?”

“I have a few close friends,” Draco conceded, “but of all of them, Theo is the one I am most terrified to tell.”

“Why?”

“Probably because he has the life I want. He married the woman he loves and has two kids I adore more than anything in the world. He is so happy and his problems always seem to be fixable. When I think about where I thought I would be at twenty-six, I see Theo. I don’t see me.”

“Is that why you allowed him to ‘push you’ toward Astoria?”

Draco pointed an accusatory finger at her and said, “I see what you are trying to do, and I am not going to talk about it.”

“Your choice.”

Penelope was not judging him, the perfect arbiter of neutrality. Her brown eyes were kind and understanding, and he needed that more than anything. Draco only ever needed someone to ask the right questions and say all the proper things to make him feel whole.

“We will get there,” Draco decided. “One day. Very, very far in the future.”

“Right then,” Penelope said. Her tone conveyed that she believed it would take far less time than Draco believed. “If you were to tell your friend, Theo, my suggestion would be to say you do not see food for what it is. You look at food and it is as though every single one of your failures has been presented to you on a plate. The only way you believed you could survive was, ironically, not to eat.”

Draco nodded.

“Perhaps then make sure he knows you do not blame him for this.”

“But I do,” Draco revealed. “I blame him.”

“Why?” Penelope asked, seemingly unsurprised. 

“Not only Theo, I blame everyone around me. Perhaps it was understandable during the war. That first year when I could not eat, everyone was dealing with their own problems. We were all just trying to stay alive. After the war everyone dealt with it differently, but to them I was the same. My habits never changed and I had always been thin, so everyone overlooked what was happening to me.”

“That makes them ignorant, but why do you blame them?”

Draco curled into himself and asked, “Do most people have a turning point?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do most anorexics,” he winced, “have a moment when they realize they can get away with it? That no matter how far they spiral, no one cares enough to notice?”

“Every case is different.”

“Well my life came to a point where I was trying to die and no one noticed.”

“Hmm ...” Penelope hummed and jotted something down on her parchment. “When was this?”

“At my trial. “You know I was charged with aiding the Dark Lord, attempting to overthrow the government, and three counts of attempted assassination.”

"Yes.”

“And I was acquitted.”

“Of course.”

“But you have no idea what it took to get there.”

“So tell me.”


	6. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy is the last place Draco expected to make a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place March 1st, 2007.

“I suppose I wasn’t really trying to die.”

Draco looked up at Penelope, whose gaze hadn’t wavered. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? Draco bit down on his lip, cracked his knuckles, and decided to continue as best he could.

“The prosecution goes first in a trial, you know. I hated myself from the ages of sixteen to nineteen, but hearing all the shit I did, watching other people listen to all the awful things I said and the horrible things I did ... Nobody cared that I was a teenager caught in the middle of a war I wanted no part in. Nobody cared that I was only being tried because they could not retry my father. I was a scapegoat, a whipping boy for an angry country and I believed I deserved it.”

“You didn’t,” Penelope insisted. “Has anyone told you that?”

“Oh, sure, years later. Most of my friends were just relieved I was acquitted. By the time my lawyer was able to present anything, even _I_ thought I deserved to be punished. Draco Malfoy was someone I no longer wanted to be, so I tried to ... I dunno how to explain it other than I was trying to get rid of the parts of myself I didn’t like.”

“As you did that, you got smaller.”

“Yes!” Draco agreed. “I was taking away parts of myself. If I got rid of Draco and only the Malfoy part remained, at least my parents would consider that a success. At least I could get them to love me with the same intensity that they love each other. If I kept getting smaller and died in the process, I would not have been upset about it. I would have been quite relieved, actually, not to have to deal with living life as Draco Malfoy.”

Penelope nodded.

“And you are bitter because no one noticed.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“I can’t know, but I wonder why you allowed other people to dictate how you see yourself.”

Draco shrugged.

“It is not true that no one noticed. Harry Potter and I, no love lost there you understand, but he testified in my defense. I thought I was done in, Azkaban-bound, but he saved the day like he always seems to do. When we left court that day, he pulled me aside to ask what they were doing to me. As though the Wizengamot was cursing me or my parents refused to feed me.”

“Why did he ask that question?”

“Because he noticed something was different.”

“What was different?”

“I thanked him.”

“Is that all?”

No, it wasn’t. Potter had said as much himself. He had been raised in the Muggle world after all, maybe he knew something more than Draco had back then. Maybe he knew the disease had a name.

“When you are on trial for high crimes, the Wizengamot puts you in this massive chair that restrains your magic by cuffing your wrists and ankles. Potter saw me take my hand out of one to wipe my nose. I was so thin that the restraints didn’t do much restraining.”

“I see.”

“He promised to fight for me, and that was the most gallant thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“How did that promise affect you?”

Draco hummed as he considered the question.

“He meant well, but it made everything worse. Nobody else had noticed, or if they had they blamed it on me getting taller and the stress of the trial. The only person with the bollocks to say anything was Harry fucking Potter and I never wanted his pity.”

“You did not want anyone to notice, but are upset that they never did. You admired Harry Potter’s willingness to see what you were doing to yourself, but loathed him for it. You want your friends to know but are terrified of telling them.”

Draco pressed his lips together, not wanting to affirm those contradictions.

“Then I think we could say none of that is actually what you feel.”

“How do you mean?”

Penelope sighed and answered, “I am going to ask you something that may be a bit uncomfortable.”

“As though anything you have asked me has been comfortable?”

Penelope smiled.

“No, I suppose not. We have spoken a lot about what you have done to yourself, but not much about why.”

“I told you why,” Draco insisted, “I don’t like being who I am.”

“That isn’t it, though, is it?”

Draco felt his eyebrows knit together as he frowned.

“Isn’t it?”

“You said you wanted your parents to love you with the same intensity they love each other. To me, at least, it implies that they don’t.”

“I—” Draco cut himself off. “Oh.”

“If you felt your parents never loved you quite enough, and you said your relationship to Astoria Greengrass fell apart because you were still engaging in self-destructive tendencies, is it fair to say that you are searching for a meaningful connection?”

Draco’s frown deepened.

“You are searching for someone to love you, so you can prove to yourself that Draco Malfoy is worth something . Because right now, you don’t believe it. You need someone to tell you.”

He rapped his knuckles against the edge of her desk.

“Wow.”

“Do you agree?”

“No,” Draco insisted. “I have people who love me. My parents love me, my mother more than my father, but they do. My friends love me. I am godfather to Theo’s children, probably best man at Blaise’s wedding when he finally works up the courage to ask ...”

“Every person you named has someone that they love more than you, and I believe that may be the root of your problem. Do you agree?”

No.

Not possible.

Absolutely not.

He nodded and admitted, “Yes.”

“Do you see an issue with that?”

“I see several.”

“One thing you need to understand about anorexia—”

“Can you write that down for me?” Draco asked. “Strange request, I know, but I want to ensure I spell it properly.”

Penelope ripped off a small piece of parchment, wrote down “Anorexia,” then passed it over to him. Draco looked down at it, the word written in delicate script that made his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach. He stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans and waited for Penelope to speak, but she continued looking at him for a moment.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

“I am not quite sure what I see,” Penelope answered. “Do you understand there is a problem searching for validation in other people?”

“No. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

“No, Draco, they don’t. You do not need someone else to tell you it is okay to exist as you are. If you are going to recover from this, you have to accept that it is okay to be Draco Malfoy.”

Draco scoffed, “That sounds like an excruciatingly long process.”

Penelope smiled and teased, “You can afford it.”

Draco laughed.

“Your time today, however, is up.”

Draco nodded, stood, and pulled on his coat. Penelope smiled up at him from her chair and said,

“As your therapist, I think you have already made progress. But as someone who has known you, Draco, I am really proud you are continuing on. Many people have to start and stop, keep convincing themselves this is the right thing to do. You are still here and that alone is an accomplishment.”

His shoulders fell and he mumbled, “Thanks.”

She cautioned, “It doesn’t get easier.”

“Right. See you next week, then.”

Penelope waved him off with, “See you next week.”

Draco shot out of the room and was in the lobby before the door closed behind him. He was nearly at the door when someone caught him by the elbow. Draco turned around to see Hermione Granger handing a few Sickles to Lila van Ravensway. 

“Can you do lunch?”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. How does she know? 

“Can I ... what?”

Granger tucked a curl behind her ear and said, “You, me, food, beverages ...”

Confused, Draco wondered, “Are you asking me out?”

“No!” she half-shouted back. “Today was rough and you’re the only person outside the Minister who knows I come here. I cannot go back to work right now. I’d rather not take the time explaining this to anyone else, so come to lunch with me?”

“I don’t know if I would be of much help to you,” Draco admitted. “Today was an excruciating session for me as well and I just want to be rid of this place.”

“Me too, so let’s go.”

Next thing he knew, Granger was half-dragging him down the front steps toward a cafe at the other end of Helga’s Kitchen. He was relieved when she finally dropped her hold on his hand; he didn’t like to be touched. He awkwardly cleared his throat and asked,

“What made today so difficult?”

“We talked about my divorce.” Granger huffed out a heavy breath and a large cloud crystalized in front of her lips. “Padma seems to believe I haven’t quite dealt with all the frustration and humiliation that came with it.”

“Is she right?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.”

“Well if you are kidnapping me for lunch, then I think you should talk about it.”

“Why?” Granger glanced over and asked, “What are you even here for?”

“If you are desperate enough to ask me to lunch I figure you must really need someone.”

“I mean, why are you seeing Penelope?”

“Oh.”

They walked in awkward silence for ten seconds before Hermione pressed him again.

“Is it that serious?”

Draco didn’t know how to tell her. Could she possibly think any less of him? He couldn’t say the name aloud. _Anorexia_. God, it felt foreign. Even thinking about it sent a shiver of disgust down his spine. But it was only fair, wasn’t it? Sharing what internal hell had brought them to Clearwater & Patil. The parchment scrap felt like a dead weight in his pocket.

“Next week, perhaps.”

Granger nodded.

“Next week, then. Today we’ll talk about me.”

**.oOo.**

Draco understood hunger. Hell, he understood it better than most people ever could. What he did not understand was how someone could eat like they were starving without so much as a hint of regret. Granger dragged him over to a cafe so tiny it didn’t even have a sign. A hole-in-the-wall that you had to know was there. Draco ordered a cup of cocoa, but Merlin’s arse, he was not prepared for the amount of food on Hermione’s plate. It was piled high with chips. Nothing else, just chips.

“I skipped breakfast and all session the only thing I could think about was eating a massive plate of chips.”

Draco’s stomach turned. The thought of eating all of that ... He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Come off it,” she teased, “don’t tell me you hate chips.”

Just to spite her, Draco picked a chip off the pile and tossed it into his mouth. She rolled her eyes and swallowing wasn’t quite so difficult. He ate two more before admitting,

“It isn’t so much the chips themselves as it is the quantity.”

She smiled. Draco hadn’t ever actually seen her smile before; not at him, anyway. It was kind of cute, the way her eyes crinkled up at the corners. Of course, it wasn’t meant to last. Her smile faded as she remembered why she had ordered a massive plate of food.

“Ron and I divorced three years ago.”

“How long were you married?”

“How can you not know?” Granger asked, surprised. “It was everywhere, the moment we got married and the day we filed our divorce papers.”

“Hah,” Draco chuckled, “It may come as a shock to you, but I don’t care about your golden lives. Except for Potter, perhaps, to whom I owe a great deal.”

“You must’ve been in a right state at your trial. Harry was worried about you. Terribly, terribly worried, but he didn’t know where to go. Wouldn’t tell us anything, just said he hoped you would recover from all the stress.”

He knew.

Potter had seen what Draco was doing to himself, and he knew.

“You may tell him I am trying.”

“It is the trial, then?” Granger guessed. She paused for some chips, then continued. “Is that why you are seeing Penelope?”

Draco shook his head.

“Next week, remember?”

“Right, to answer your question Ronald and I were married about two years. And you know the worst part?”

“What’s that?”

“It was good.” She sighed, her shoulders slumped, and she nearly face-planted in the chips. “So, so good until it wasn’t. I love him and he loves me, so it should have worked out.”

“Regrettably, I can confirm that is not how life works.”

“Do you even date?” 

It was Draco’s turn to sigh, then. He nodded.

“Sometimes. Not for awhile, after the trial. When I was twenty-two my parents set me up with Gabrielle Delacour, which was doomed from the start. Merlin, she is a wonderful girl. The sweetest person you could imagine, and I never want to pour all of my problems onto someone like that.”

“Maybe that’s the real secret,” Hermione teased, “dating someone who is nearly as fucked-up in the head as you are. Could get Padma and Penelope to give us a list of clients, work our way down.”

Draco grinned.

“They would never give out names, but that is one of my problems. I feel guilty about asking for support from someone who only wants a date and a good shag. So I stayed away from it for awhile. Dated Blaise for a bit three years ago, but you should have seen my father’s face when he found out I was with a man. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so bloody terrifying. He thought the Malfoy line would end with my dick up Blaise’s arse.”

Hermione had been mid-sip, and laughed so hard water came out her nose. She wiped it away with the side of her wrist and kept chuckling between small, desperate breaths. Draco forgot everything else for a moment and laughed along.

“Now Blaise has found his goddamn soulmate and my closest relationship is my therapist.” He raised his cocoa and said, “Cheers.” The cocoa burned his tongue but the pain was a welcome distraction.

“I’ve never dated someone who isn’t Ron.”

“Really?” Draco sat his cup on the table and leaned forward. “I assumed after him you had your pick of the lot.”

“I went out on dates right after,” she admitted, diving back into her chips. “None of them made me feel like he did, though. Safe, loved, and sort of ... warm? He was comfortable, and he always felt like home.”

Draco wistfully admitted, “That sounds wonderful.”

“We wanted different things, though. It never mattered at the beginning. We didn’t want kids right then. We didn’t know where our careers would go. We didn’t know anything about life! So a year in he started talking about children. A lot of children. I was climbing my way up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I thought I wanted a family, but then there wasn’t time for it. He said he would give that up for me, but I always knew he wanted a large family like his parents. I couldn’t give that to him. Our friendship was so strong that we both thought our marriage would have to be strong, too, but those two things were almost completely exclusive.”

“So that is why you divorced?”

“Um, no. Not really.”

Granger did not answer the question right away. She spent a minute eating more chips, half of them already gone. Draco took another one, just for something to do. She finally answered,

“Guilt.”

Draco frowned.

“Over what? Neither one of you are the infidelity sort. Weasley would chop off his wand hand before cheating on you.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she asked, “Why would you say that?”

“Because he is a frustratingly loyal arsehole.” Draco shrugged. “I don’t like him, will never like him, but he grew up with all of two Galleons to his family name. Bastard knows a good thing when he has it.”

“There might have been a compliment somewhere in there.”

“Don’t look too close, then.”

“You are right, though,” Granger conceded. “Neither of us would have been unfaithful in that way, but I think we both had lingering thoughts about what there could be if we weren’t together. When Viktor was single, there were always letters. I hid them in my desk at work, but why? There was nothing improper within them, the only improper thing was how excited I felt about receiving them.”

“Internationally renowned Quidditch star? I would be excited to get letters from him, too.”

“ _‘Yours, Viktor.’_ That is how he signed his letters. When I wrote back it was always, _‘With Love,’_ Hermione.”

“I see.”

“Ronald visits Lavender’s grave every month. He would spend time alone with Alicia Spinnet and even Parvati. Our relationship was constantly battered by _what if_? Eventually, we wanted to find out. We divorced, he’s married to Alicia, and I am having lunch with you.”

“No Viktor Krum?”

“Told you I dated a bit.”

“Bad sex?” Draco guessed.

“Great sex,” Hermione countered, “he simply cared far more for me than I do for him.”

“Hmm.”

“All I think about is how I wasn’t good enough to make it work,” she admitted. “I’m so angry at myself for not being able to give Ron the life he wanted, but I am even more frustrated knowing if I was given a chance to change it, I wouldn’t. I would take every moment I could with him until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I love myself more than I love him, and that is not what a marriage is supposed to be. I should love him just as much as I love myself, not more or less.”

“It all built up inside then you threw a book at the Hungarian Minister for Magic.”

“Exactly.”

Draco sipped his cocoa, wondering how the hell Hermione Granger’s life had fallen apart. She could fix anything, right? If she was this far gone after two years, how the hell was he meant to recover after ten?

“Weren’t you with Astoria Greengrass?”

Draco spun the cup around in his fingers. He nodded, but said nothing. Thank God, Granger seemed to get the message. The unspoken promise of next week.

“I went into Padma’s office thinking I was there for some sort of anger management. Today she said something that made me uncomfortable.”

“I can’t believe it took five weeks for you to be uncomfortable!” Draco said with a chuckle. “I’ve had two sessions and each time I leave I feel like I have been swimming in dragon dung.”

Hermione scrunched her nose and groaned, “Gross.” She stared at the chips and realized, “I can’t eat any more.”

Draco choked back a laugh. If only she knew how well he understood.

“What did Padma say to you?”

With her eyes trained on the plate in front of her, Hermione revealed, “She said, ‘Hermione, you are not angry, you’re lonely.’”

“That, at least, is something I understand.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was ridiculous. I have Harry, I still have Ron, I have Ginny and Dean and my parents and so many people.”

“But they have someone else. Perhaps you and I are not so different in that regard.”

“Harry has Ginny, Ron has Alicia, Angelina is with George, Dean has Blaise, and my parents have each other and I’ve just got ... nobody. I come home to nobody.”

“I thought I liked being alone,” Draco admitted. “When Astoria left I was so relieved to have the space for myself. She left and I could finally breathe. Penelope is making me think otherwise.”

“How’s that?”

“She thinks I am afraid to be seen.”

“Is she right?”

Draco nodded.

Granger asked, “We are both mental, aren’t we?”

“I think we’re both alone,” Draco countered back. 

Hermione smiled.

“Next week, then?”

Draco smiled back and repeated, “Next week.”


	7. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's best friends reinforce his worst thoughts.

Draco kept the scrap of paper on him all the time.

He did not know why. He never said it aloud, couldn’t bring himself to. “I am anorexic” didn’t make any sense. Honestly, most of the time “I am Draco Malfoy” hardly made sense to say. He had lost his grip on the person he was supposed to be.

There were moments when he remembered. When he walked into Theo’s house and Scarlett came running down the hall into his arms, that was part of himself he wanted to keep. He spun around once before placing her back on the floor.

“Missed you!” she squeaked.

“I missed you, too.” Draco beamed down at her. “What are we doing today?”

“Dad says we can go to the park!”

“Only if your brother wants to go,” Theo insisted.

Scarlett rolled her eyes the same way her father did when Draco said something stupid. He did not have a favourite godchild, but he saw so much of the kid he once was reflected in Scarlett. She was never afraid to say what she wanted or what she thought of people. The twins had dark hair like their father, but they had Tracey’s hazel eyes. Draco snuck his way into Scarlett’s favour by teaching her to ride a broom. He put his hands on his hips and told Scarlett,

“We’ll convince him. Go tell your mum I’m here.”

“Okay!” she shouted before running back down the hall.

Draco laughed and turned to face Theo.

“You look different,” he said. “I dunno how, but you look more ...”

“Awake?”

“Sad.”

“Oh.” Draco nervously stuck his hands in his pockets and his fingers brushed against the parchment scrap. He swallowed thickly and said, “There is something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

Theo was his brother by every measure that mattered, he should know first. He already noticed a difference, how long before he figured it out?

“I ... planned to take the twins for ice cream. Thought you should know before I leave them with you all high on sugar.”

Theo bumped his shoulder and laughed.

“That is why you are their favourite. You bought your way into their hearts with ice cream and broomsticks.”

Draco looked down at the floor as he followed Theo into the living area. Was that true? Never good as a person, just lovable for his money. Theo hadn’t meant it that way but that did not make it hurt any less. As always, Draco swallowed the shame and smiled.

**.oOo.**

Bowman Wright park was only a few blocks from the house. Theo and Tracey got the afternoon off, while Draco got to spend it with his two favourite people. Once they were both securely bundled in jackets and mittens, they headed out the front door. He carried Sebastien on his hip and let Scarlett walk next to him with a small broom tucked under one arm, holding onto his hand with the other.

It was a cold day, but warmer than it had been during the week. The park had several areas for playing, walking, or riding broomsticks. They always ended up at the children’s pitch where kids rode around on their tiny brooms, acclimatizing themselves to speed and basic maneuvers. Draco was there to watch Scarlett, whom he was certain would be a fantastic Keeper one day. He sat on a nearby bench with Sebastien at his side, nose in a book. He would frequently ask Draco what certain words were, which letters made different sounds, and tried to learn as best he could. After an hour Draco asked,

“Sebastien, do you think I am sad?”

Without looking up from his book he said, “You’re always sad.”

Draco’s jaw dropped open a bit. A large cloud of breath crystallized against his lips.

“I am not always sad.”

“Happy people smile. You don’ smile.”

“I smile all the time!”

“You pretend-smile,” Sebastien agreed, “but only when dad’s looking. Or mum, sometimes.”

“Right,” Draco grumbled. He was so transparent that even a five-year-old could see his pain. Yet none of his friends had bothered. “What do you do when you’re sad, then?”

“Cry.”

“God, I cry all the time, Seb. Perhaps you are right and I am sad.”

He finally looked up from his book to ask, “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why are you sad?”

What a heavy question. There were so many answers, most of which were not appropriate for child ears.

“If I tell you, promise not to tell anyone else?”

Sebastien nodded his head and whispered, “Promise!” As though he would guard this secret with his life. Draco smiled sadly—apparently he did everything sadly—and looked over at Scarlett zooming around on her Nimbus 102.

“I am a bit ill.”

“Are you gonna die?”

“No, I don’t think so. I have a nice Healer now and she is helping.”

“If you’re sick, is that why you’re sad all the time?”

“You know what, Seb?” Draco pulled his godson onto his lap and hugged him around the middle. “I think I’m sad and that is why I became ill in the first place.”

“If we make you happy, you’ll get better?”

If only it was that fucking easy.

“Yes,” Draco lied, “that is exactly how it works.”

“Then we have to make you happy!” Sebastien shouted. “D’you know what makes people happy?”

Draco guessed, “Ice cream?”

“ICE CREAM!”

And while she had ignored them the entire time they’d been at the park, one mention of ice cream and Scarlett zoomed right over to their spot on the bench. She pulled the broom to a stop and asked,

“Are we going to get ice cream?!”

“Of course we’re going to get ice cream!” Draco revealed. “Hop off, and let’s go get you some of that blueberry I know you love.”

Scarlett scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue.

“GROSS!”

“Butterbeer?” Draco guessed again, just to mess with her.

“GROSSER!”

“Hmm ... How about pistachio?”

Scarlett stuck her tongue out as far as she could and shouted, “BLEEEEGH!”

“Alright, chocolate it is.”

She grinned and said, “Thank you!”

As they began walking toward the ice cream shop, Sebastien tugged on Scarlett’s elbow and said, “We have to make Uncle Draco happy!”

“Why?” she asked, wrestling her broomstick back beneath her arm. “I thought he liked being sad.”

“Oi, you two!” Draco groaned. “I am not always sad.”

“Yes you are,” Scarlett insisted in the same way all five-year-olds seem to say the truth. “I just thought you were weird.”

“‘Cause he’s sick and he’s gonna die if we don’t make him happy.”

“That is not true, Seb,” Draco insisted. “Do not frighten your sister like that, I am not going to die and I am not sad all the time. You two make me very happy. Ice cream also makes me happy, so let’s focus on that, shall we?” He lowered his voice to a serious tone and said, “You are not allowed to tell your parents I am ill. Do you understand?”

They each grumbled, “Yes,” but Draco had a feeling it would only last so long.

**.oOo.**

Blaise had an amazing house. Two floors, five bedrooms, and the biggest kitchen Draco had ever seen. For years, though, it had been sort of empty. Dean moved in a year earlier and filled it up with his presence, made it into a home. Merlin’s arse, if only someone could come into the manor and do that. It is what Draco always wanted from Astoria, but she had siphoned off what little air remained.

It had been eleven days since Penelope told Draco his disease had a name. He’d been carrying that name around in his pocket for four days, yet he hadn’t actually told anyone about it. Draco did not understand why, but every time he thought it was alright to say he backed away. Words make things real, and he was not certain he was ready to cope with that.

Deep down, he knew it needed to be said. Someone had to know, someone had to understand, and it would have to be Blaise. Theo was out of the question now; tried and failed. Bastien was an apothecary who would try to shove all manner of potions and remedies down Draco’s throat. Pansy would laugh at him for having a Muggle illness. And his parents, well, they were the reason he was in this goddamn mess.

Draco envied Blaise for finding Dean Thomas. He walked through their door and Dean took his coat, put it in the closet, and offered him snacks. (Draco declined.) Everything between them appeared effortless. Draco knew it wasn’t; Blaise was constantly trying to convince himself he was worthy of Dean. (He wasn’t, but nobody dared say it aloud.) Quick kisses before leaving the room, twining their fingers together below a table, and that murderous look Dean got when someone implied he was with Blaise for money ... Draco wanted a love like that, but never believed he deserved it.

He sat in an armchair in the living area, legs crossed, fingers twirling a glass of Firewhisky. Blaise and Dean were on the sofa across from him, faces grim.

“What do you mean you are ill?” Blaise asked. “You look fine to me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Blaise elbowed him in the side and Dean winced.

Blaise repeated, “You look fine.”

Draco did not say anything for awhile. He twirled the glass a few times before leaning forward to place it on the coffee table. He anxiously rubbed one thumb with the pad of the other, not quite sure how to proceed.

Dean asked, “Are we the first people to know?”

Draco shook his head and revealed, “Scarlett and Sebastien know.”

“You told Theo’s children?” Blaise asked, surprised. “Did you tell Theo?”

“No, I ...” Draco shrugged. “I tried but it was too hard. The kids just wanted to know why I was so sad, and I told them I am ill, that is all. My parents, Gabriel Truman and Romilda Vane are the only others who know about my condition.”

“Shouldn’t you go to St. Mungo’s?” Blaise downed the rest of the Firewhisky in his glass before asking, “Have you visited a Healer?”

“It is not the sort of thing you can fix at St. Mungo’s.”

“But you said you are ill. When you are ill, you go to the hospital.”

Draco tried to explain, “This is more common in Muggles. Penelope says it is a ‘human’ disease, though, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. Fat lot of good that did.”

“Penelope Clearwater knows, as well?”

“She is my therapist.”

“You have a _therapist?!_ ” Blaise shouted. “Christ, Draco, what the hell is going on?”

Say it.

You have to tell him.

You have to say it.

Draco couldn’t do it. The piece of parchment in his pocket could have burned a hole through his trousers. He looked at Blaise, then at Dean, then back to Blaise, whose eyes were so wide with worry they nearly popped out of his head. Draco dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force back tears.

“It’s just ...” His voice cracked a bit. He took a deep breath and said, “It is hard to tell someone that matters.”

Dean turn to Blaise and asked, “Would you make me a bowl of fruit and bring a glass of water?”

“I am not leaving him like this. I need to know—”

“Blaise, I was being polite. I wasn’t asking.”

Draco didn’t look up, continued to stare at one particular spot on the floor, but the mood in the room was frigid. He’d never seen the two of them fight, or argue over anything more than which colour to paint the walls. Dean whispered something, and whatever he said was enough for Blaise to leave the room without question. Moments later, Dean’s socked feet entered his line of sight but Draco did not look up.

“My sister, Kinsley, started university two years ago.”

“Don’t you have, like, thirty-five siblings?”

“Seven,” Dean answered with a heavy sigh. “I have seven younger sisters, but Kinsley is the second-oldest. Shortest as well; Zara is nine but she’ll catch up to Kinsley soon. When she started university, I never thought much of it. I visited when I could and we went out for dinner, but she rarely ordered food. There was always an excuse; late lunch, stomach bug, or she’d sit there and pick at her food before taking it home in a box.”

Dean Thomas was raised by Muggles. Of course he would know. _Of course he would_. If Draco was honest with himself, he had hoped Dean would be there when he told Blaise for this very reason. It was easier if someone understood without Draco having to tell them.

He squeaked out, “How is she now?”

“Almost fully recovered. She only suffered for a few months; we caught it early. It took eight months of therapy but she is doing well.”

“That’s good.”

“Draco, do you have an eating disorder?”

He folded in on himself, resting his head practically between his knees as he nodded. The tears came in a quick rush, and Draco hated himself for it. Hated that he couldn’t think about his life without sobbing.

“I—” hiccup! “I don’t want to be like this.” Draco sniffled. “Never thought about it until my hair started falling out. Never cared.”

“Stand up so I can hug you.”

He obliged and grumbled, “I hate that you are a hugger.”

“No you don’t.”

Draco wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and cried into his shirt. Strong, lithe arms wrapped around Draco’s shoulders and he agreed,

“Right now I don’t.”

They stood there for a bit as Draco melted into the embrace. He did not realize how starved he was for someone’s touch until he was wrapped in it. Draco didn’t want to let Dean go, could have stayed there because it was the first time someone had shown they cared.

“Blaise cares about you so much.” Dean pulled him a little closer as though he could hear Draco’s thoughts. “I know he isn’t the sort to show it well, Merlin knows how much I understand that, but he has worried about you for a long time. I told him to ask, but he is always afraid you want that sort of thing to come from Theo. It means so much that you came to us first.”

“Just wanted somebody to know.” Draco used his shirt to wipe his nose. “Can I sit down now?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Blaise chimed in from the doorway.

“Would you two like me to dim the lights? Put on some music, perhaps?”

Draco pushed Dean away and warned Blaise, “Don’t be a dick.” He wiped his eyes and fell back into the chair.

Blaise handed him a bowl of fruit and sat a glass of water on the table. He pulled Dean back onto the sofa and sat without a word. Draco grabbed a strawberry and bit off the end to distract himself from the heavy silence. He didn’t know which one of them asked,

“How long have you been sick?”

Draco popped a grape into his mouth.

“About ten years.”

“Ten years?! ”

“Funny enough, you don’t need an invisibility cloak to avoid being seen.”

“Since sixth year?!” Blaise shouted. “What, was I not a good enough friend to know?”

“It was nothing like that.”

“We dated for a year and you never thought to tell me?!”

“This is not something I should have to tell you!” Draco screamed back. “It was plain, right there for you and every other person in my life to see! How much food did you ever actually watch me eat?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Blaise’s brow furrowed and he frowned, combing through memories of a relationship they both preferred to forget. “No, I suppose I assumed you ate but it was never something I paid much attention to.”

“Right, because I don’t eat.”

“Is there something wrong with your stomach?”

“No, Blaise, I choose not to eat.”

“Why?”

Draco paused to sip from the water glass. He wondered whether he would ever have an answer to that question. _Why?_ Why does anyone deprive themselves of anything?

Change.

But that did not feel quite right. Change can be good. Change was moving forward, it was progress. What Draco had done to himself was the opposite. He had practiced years upon years of careful subtraction and finally settled on an answer.

“Spite.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How could you?” Draco asked. He glanced over to Dean, then back again. “You’re loved.”

“You are my closest friend,” Blaise insisted. “Next to Dean, you are the only real family I have. You have so many people who love you—”

“I have people who love the parts of me that they choose to see,” Draco snapped. “You wish to know why I do this to myself? I do it because I cannot stand the person I see in the mirror. It doesn’t feel real to me. I will kill every part of Draco Malfoy that doesn’t fit and hope to God that I can make whatever remains into a person that someone will think is worthwhile. If someone else believes it, maybe it will be true.”

Dean wasn’t surprised by any of this, he only looked sad. Perhaps a tad guilty that he hadn’t come forward sooner. Blaise, on the other hand, was furious.

“I have always loved you! Always! You are the one constant in my life, from the time I met you at age seven until now. You are my best friend and I do not understand why you would keep this from me!”

Dean hoisted Blaise up by the arm and dragged him into one of the adjoining rooms. He waved his hand and the door slammed shut. There was a brief pause before their voices, muffled, began to filter through.

> _What the hell are you doing?_
> 
> _I am trying to understand why my best mate has been starving himself for a goddamn decade, Dean! That is what I am trying to do!_
> 
> _You aren’t asking Draco about what he sees in himself or why he needs to do this. The only thing you are asking him is why the hell he chose not to tell you, and right now, Blaise, you are giving him a dozen reasons to regret he told you at all._
> 
> _I do not understand this._
> 
> _Because you are trying to make it about you! This has nothing to do with you, Blaise!_
> 
> _It does because he blames me!_
> 
> _He blames everyone! The world hated him and much of it still does! Have you or Theo or Pansy or anyone in Draco’s life ever given him reason to think he should not hate himself just as much?_
> 
> _Of course we have! Theo made him godfather to the twins—_
> 
> _Yes, they did. But tell me again, why did Theo name his son after Bastien?_

There was a brief pause before Blaise confirmed something Draco had always suspected.

> _Theo did not want his son to live with the stigma of Draco’s name._

Draco's heart cracked right down the middle, so he did the only thing he could do. He left, and neither Blaise nor Dean would realize he was gone until the front door slammed shut behind him.


	8. Malfoyology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise Zabini isn't a horrible friend after all, and Penelope Clearwater does her job.

Three days ‘til Thursday.

If Draco could make it to Penelope, she might have the answers he needed. At least she would convince him recovery was not a waste of time. Draco wondered whether to continue. Who would even be there at the end to care? If he did recover, his friends would know that he was like this for years. They would always see him through that light and there was no shading it. 

Draco would always blame them and they would always blame him.

He collapsed onto his bed the moment he returned from Blaise’s house. Draco woke up the following morning to brush his teeth. He changed into pyjamas and wasted the day away. He read rubbish books, refused food, and did not open the door for his mother when she knocked. Draco wanted to be alone and think about nothing important. Think about nothing at all, really.

He showered the next morning. Brushed his teeth, did his hair the way Bastien had shown him, then dressed in jeans and a green jumper. He had no intention of leaving his room, but it felt nice to fall back into a routine. Productive, at least.

Someone knocked on his bedroom door around noon. 

“Master Draco, you have a visitor!” 

Draco rolled his eyes at the sound of Tippy’s voice. He told her earlier that he did not plan to entertain visitors before Thursday. It was not his first days-long sulk. After Astoria left he stayed in his room for a full week; there was protocol for this sort of thing. Draco hopped off the bed and pulled the door open to reveal the very last person in the world he wished to see. Blaise had a solemn look on his face and said,

“I need to speak to you.”

“Well, I have no desire to speak to you.”

Draco slammed the door in Blaise’s face. He heard the loud crack signaling Tippy was gone, leaving the two of them alone. Through the door, Blaise managed to say,

“I need to apologize.”

An understatement. Blaise needed to grovel on his bloody knees, then perhaps Draco would consider his apology. 

“Please,” he begged, “let me say I am sorry.”

Draco cracked the door and asked, “For making me feel like I somehow betrayed our friendship? For making my illness entirely about you? Or for touching me day after day in the most intimate ways and not noticing I was fading beneath your fingers? Please, Blaise, tell me exactly what you are sorry for.”

He took a deep breath and couldn’t quite meet Draco’s eyes. 

“I am here to apologize for being a horrible friend.”

Draco let the silence drag on for a bit before opening the door.

“I am listening.”

Blaise’s entire body went limp with relief, and he smiled for a moment before his expression hardened again.

“It was wrong of me to judge you for what you believed you needed to do to feel like a whole person. This is not something I will ever understand, but food is my life. It kept me sane during the summers my mother spent seducing, marrying, and murdering men. Hell, food even brought me to Dean, who singlehandedly makes my life worth living. When you told me you do not eat, it felt like you were rejecting the most important part of me.”

“You keep making things about you. Bringing what happened to me back to your experiences and forgetting about mine.”

“No, I know. Dean explained it to me as best he could—”

“But why?!” Draco shouted. He pounded his fist against the doorframe so hard that Blaise flinched. “I was sitting there in your goddamn house ready to tell you everything! I came to you, but you needed your boyfriend to convince you to listen to me!”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then why should I ever trust you again?”

“Because I care about you!” Blaise insisted. “I meant what I said; you are the closest family I have. The thought that you blamed me for this? That I had failed you in the most basic way? I was not ready to hear that.”

“Good,” Draco snapped, “because I never said it.”

“But I heard it.” Blaise lowered his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You care about me, but when it comes to me or Theo, you are closer to him. All I can do for you is be what he isn’t. All I want is to make you feel as important as you have always made me feel, and since I failed to do that, I failed at the one thing I was meant to do as your best friend.”

He was right. Draco nodded and had a dozen things to say, but no words with which to say them. He finally settled on,

“I never slept with Theo.”

Blaise laughed and agreed, “No, you didn’t.”

Draco groaned and ran a hand over his face. He should be used to this by now, carrying the weight of his relationships almost entirely on his own shoulders.

“Just because I have known Theo longer does not mean we are closer or that you are of any less importance to me. Theo is a brother in every way that matters, and you are different. You are my closest friend, the person who doesn’t have to be in my life and still remains with me through everything. I want to see you happy, and that was never going to be with me. I think we both knew that from the beginning. Then you found Dean! God, how did you get the nicest person in the world to fall in love with you?”

“Food,” Blaise answered without hesitation. “And I want to do the reverse for you.”

Draco frowned and asked, “How do you mean?”

“Well, food brought me to Dean, so I want to bring you back to food. As your best friend it is the least I can do.”

Draco stared at him for a long while. He could be bitter at the rest of his friends, but was it really proper to deny Blaise the opportunity to make up for his ignorance? Gabriel said Draco would need someone to rely on, and perhaps Blaise was a start. He leaned against the doorframe and asked,

“How would you do that?”

Blaise shrugged and admitted, “I don’t quite know. As I said, I will never understand this, but I thought after Dean was done explaining how ... people ... um ...” He waved his hand around in a vague gesture. “How people like you tend to think—“

“Going to stop you there. You took one step forward then about thirteen steps back.”

Blaise momentarily pressed his fist onto his forehead and cursed enough to make even Draco raise an eyebrow.

“Is it true that food frightens you?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. “It terrifies me, it disgusts me, and it confuses me.”

“Well, my first thought was that I could teach you how to make things that are not quite so terrifying. Like fruit! You like fruit.”

“Yes.”

“Then I can teach you to make things with berries. Maybe a little brie crostini with strawberries? Blackberry turnovers? Blueberry muffins? I thought perhaps if you see how your food is made then put effort into making the meal yourself, you might feel like you earned it enough to eat it.”

That did not sound horrible. Draco allowed the idea to sink in and it nearly made sense. Blaise was a damn fine chef. Draco always earned his food by running or flying, he never once considered earning food by preparing it.

“Okay.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Once a week,” Draco conceded. “I do therapy once a week, so it makes sense to have the same for you.”

Blaise grinned and pulled him into a hug. Tight around the shoulders, no space between them, and his chin resting on Blaise’s shoulder. Draco had missed this more than he cared to admit. He grumbled, 

“You should still feel bad about not noticing.”

“Thank you for giving me the chance to help you now. And you did not go to Theo first, you came to me.”

“I tried to tell him first but lost the nerve.”

“You were more comfortable telling me, then,” Blaise countered, “and that is what matters.”

“I am going to ask you a question,” Draco said with shaky breath, “and I want you to answer honestly.”

“I have never lied to you. I love you too much for that.”

For the first time in too long to remember, Draco believed those words. 

“Do you think there is Dean Thomas out there for me?” he asked. “Someone who will love me despite all this?”

“I dunno, but I think the first step is you loving yourself despite all this.”

**.oOo.**

“I think you were right.”

“Well good morning to you, too,” Penelope quipped as she sat down in her chair.

Draco had not even taken off his scarf when he said, “I have backed myself into a very lonely corner. As you said last week, I am looking for a connection somewhere else because I am alone.”

“What brought on this revelation?”

“I attempted to tell Theo about my illness and couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. Ended up telling his kids, which was, at best, ill-advised. I told Blaise about my condition and it failed miserably. So I realized that I was right and my friends are always going to look at me as this ... this ... Anorexic .” He winced at how bad the word still tasted on his tongue. “I want to make a connection outside of that ... Penelope, I think I want new friends.”

Draco waited for a response, but she just blinked at him. Then she blinked again, her eyes curiously blank, as though she was taking a moment to process all he had said. She shook her head and pulled herself back into the moment.

“One friend, really, and his ... Dean. Whose sister was anorexic, apparently. She had it for less than half a year before going to therapy, and it still took longer to break her out of it. Does that mean it will take a decade before I am free of this?”

“No,” Penelope insisted. She tossed her quill down onto the table and ran a hand through her hair. “I think it best you stop leaping to conclusions. Recovery isn’t relative to the length of time you have been ill, it matters how dedicated you are to getting well. I cannot say how dedicated you are, only you know that.”

Draco admitted, “I considered quitting. Blaise’s reaction fucked me up quite a bit.”

“He didn’t understand?”

“Not in the slightest! He kept hearing me say that I blamed him, even though I was not saying that at all.”

“When confronted with something they don’t understand, there are people who tend to take the blame. They think, ‘If something is wrong with you and you don’t understand, it must be my fault.’”

“Yes, we can thank his mother for that,” Draco quipped. “But does it matter? I mean, if my closest friends cannot understand this, don’t I need new friends?”

“It means that you need to figure out how to get them to either understand your illness or accept that they never will.”

“Why is it on me? Why is it my responsibility?”

“Because you never spoke to them when this disease began. You sank further and further into yourself, isolated yourself from your friends until all they got was a shadow of the person you are. Now it is your responsibility to reveal the rest of yourself to them.”

“Small problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not quite sure who I am.” Draco tugged his scarf off his neck and tossed it onto his coat. “That is the thing I began to realize this week. I tried to tell Theo and all he said was I looked even more sad than usual. I told the twins because they said I look sad all the time. They said I never smile! The way I believe I act, the person I believe I am, is not what everyone else sees in me.”

“There is a disconnect.”

“Yes! So Blaise offered to teach me how to love food and I agreed to try.”

“That is great!” Penelope’s face lit up. “Do you understand how big of a step that is?”

Draco shrugged.

“It is the only way I could imagine moving forward in our friendship. Let him do some of the fucking work for a change.”

“Is that a fair way to look at it?”

“Not really, I should have made him grovel more.”

“Why?” Penelope asked. She picked up her quill and jotted something down. “You had to do a lot of the work maintaining your friendships, that much is obvious. Ask yourself why that is.”

Draco thought about it for a moment. Penelope rarely asked questions if she did not already know the answer, which meant there was an answer to be found. Why had he done so much of the emotional labour over the past eight-plus years? He thought back to the months after the trial when he expected life to return to something resembling normalcy ... and it never did.

“Perhaps I hid so much that they could only give me so much in return? My friends, they ... they needed to see more of how I was struggling in order to be decent friends. I kept them out on purpose, but also pulled them in harder than I did before. I suppose I made life more difficult for myself in a number of ways.” Draco let his head fall into his hands. “God, I did all of this to myself.”

“Yes, you did. It is not entirely your fault, though.”

“Dean said Blaise knew something was wrong.”

“But he didn’t feel right coming to you with his concerns?” Penelope guessed.

Draco nodded.

“That is very common. Friends who know you can see something is not right, but they do not know what is wrong. How can they come to you when they do not have a specific question to ask? All they can verbalize is, ‘Are you okay?’ Which is the easiest question to smile your way out of.”

Draco looked up and wondered aloud, “How the hell do you look at my life and explain it in a way that makes sense?”

“I went to school for it.”

“Malfoyology?”

Penelope laughed. 

“Something like that.”

“Do you believe that is the proper way forward, though?” Draco asked. “Do I round up all my friends and say, ‘I’ve been lying to you for ten years and none of you noticed so we are going to figure out who the hell I am together!”

“No, you cannot begin by blaming them. You did this. You chose not to ask them for help. You chose to hide away. There is no one to blame here, the only thing you have to do is choose who will help you move forward. It sounds like you agreed to let Blaise do that. You already have Gabriel Truman and Romilda Vane waiting in the wings. Your parents are no longer a dead weight on your shoulders. You have to present this to your friends as the opportunity that it is. You cherish their roles in your life so much that you clung to them with your fingernails, even as you felt yourself getting further and further away from the person you knew you wanted to be. Tell them how much they matter.”

“But how? They will not understand unless I tell them everything.”

“So tell them everything.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know, Theo and I adopted each other as brothers early on. He is family more than parents are, so when he and Tracey named me as the godfather of the twins it was pretty well expected. They named their kids after people important to them. Scarlett was the name of Tracey’s mum, but Theo would sooner throw himself off his own roof than name his son after his father. I admit, I thought he might choose me but then he named his son after _Bastien_!”

“Was that a problem?”

“It is because he lied to me about his reasoning. Theo told me while he wanted me to be the most heavily involved in his kids’ lives, he wanted to involve Bastien as well. The reality, however, is that he was afraid his son would have to deal with prejudice if he had my name. Named after a traitor or a war criminal, depending upon who you ask.”

“What if I asked your friends?” Penelope countered. “If I asked them, ‘Who is Draco Malfoy?’ what would they say?”

He mumbled, “God only knows.”

“Seriously, I want to know what you believe they would say.”

“Theo would say I am ‘both the best and the worst friend you could ever have.’”

“Strange compliment.”

“We rarely give each other actual compliments. Blaise would not know what to say right now, but he would tell you that I am family. Pansy would call me a dick and Bastien would probably say something quite kind.”

“Which of those do you believe is accurate?”

“They are all accurate. That is how they see me.”

“But which one of them is the person you actually are?”

“Like I said, Penelope, I don’t know.”

She tapped the nib of her quill against the parchment a couple times before placing it on the desk. Draco withered a bit beneath her glare. He sensed a very uncomfortable question was forthcoming.

“A year from now, how do you hope to be different from the person that you are now?”

Draco hardly had to think about an answer.

“I want to smile more. After everything that was said to me over the past week, I know it is a bit strange to focus on this one thing, but I hate that my godchildren think I am sad. Perhaps it is because I have been sad the entire time they have been alive, and I don’t want that to be the only thing they ever see in me.”

“That is a great answer—”

“I also want to have a friend who doesn’t see me through my anorexia.” He scrunched his nose but continued. “I want to have a friend that does not look back and see our time together in that way, someone new.” Draco took a deep breath. “And I want to fall in love.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t bother asking about Astoria; I am not ready to speak about her yet.” 

Penelope sat back in her chair and motioned for him to continue. 

“I believe Astoria was the closest I have ever been to love. I tried to make things work, but she always wanted me to be someone that I wasn’t. After seeing Theo with Tracey, but especially after watching how happy Blaise is with Dean, I want that in my life, too. I know that I can’t have that sort of love until this is over.”

“I don’t believe that’s entirely true,” Penelope said. “Love can happen in the middle of a struggle just as easily as it can happen afterward.”

“That is what I hope for. I do not want to keep looking at my friends’ lives and wishing I had what they have. I want to be the sort of person who can have it.”

“You have to stop thinking the future!you is more worthy than you are right now. This disease is entirely about you working toward an unattainable goal, whether that is being thin or completely in control of your life, it is a forward-looking illness. Draco Malfoy, right now you are worthy of being loved. You are worthy of friendship, of all the happiness you have denied yourself for so many years.”

“Then why don’t I feel worthy of it?!” Draco asked, half-shouting the question. “Why do I keep standing in the way of my own happiness?!”

“Because before you can be happy, you have to work through the pain you’ve pushed back all these years.”

“Honestly, Penelope, the pain is manageable.”

“Evidenced by the fact that you have been doing a great job of managing it so far,” she quipped back.

“I am happy enough, considering the circumstances.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me the last time you were happy. Completely free to be happy and not holding things together.”

Draco thought about it. He considered all the moments he had with Scarlett and Sebastien. He thought about Theo’s wedding. Draco remembered his first few dates with Astoria. Hell, even lunch with Hermione Granger made him laugh. If he was honest with himself, however, none of those moments truly fit the description. Draco finally admitted,

“I can’t remember.”


	9. Friends? Friends.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco makes a new friend in the most unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on March 8th and 10th, 2007.

Draco couldn’t say what happened in the final twenty minutes of that session. He walked out the door feeling as dirty as he ever had. Perhaps dirty was not the proper word.

_Wrong._

Draco felt wrong, as though his brain was a snowglobe that someone had given a hearty shake. All these pieces were falling into place, and he was not happy with the picture they formed. Hermione Granger was waiting for him in one of the alcove chairs. She stood up and fell into step behind him.

“Your day, today, Malfoy.”

He groaned low in his throat.

“That bad?” she asked.

Draco nodded and confirmed, “That bad.” He opened the door and watched as she made her way down the steps. Her hair puffed out from beneath a knit cap, frizzy and falling past her shoulders. Draco laughed low in his throat as he realized her hair was so voluminous she had no need for earmuffs. Her coat was bright blue and she seemed in a far better mood than she had the previous week. Granger turned around and asked, 

“Are you coming?”

Draco slowly made his way down the stairs and stuffed his hands into his pockets; his fingers brushed against the tiny note he insisted upon carrying around with him. Granger looked up at him and asked,

“Lunch?”

“Can we just ...” Draco trailed off. His mind was still in jumbled fragments, piled too high to climb. He shrugged. After speaking with Penelope, Draco was not sure he could say it aloud again. The one hour alone was difficult enough.

“I need a fucking nap.”

Hermione laughed and mumbled, “I understand that.” She nudged his arm with her shoulder. “Padma is exhausting. ‘How are you feeling today?’ I don’t know, Padma, aren’t you meant to tell me that?”

Draco chuckled low in his throat. 

“Exactly.”

“So why are you seeing Penelope?”

Draco felt his eyebrows sort of knit together as he frowned. Hermione would know what “anorexia” meant, he was certain. If Dean Thomas knew about the disease then Granger certainly would, but Draco didn’t want to say it aloud. It still felt too raw, so he took a moment to consider how to walk her to the proper conclusion. A moment later he realized he didn’t need to say the words at all.

“Forgive me, I know I promised lunch but I am not up to it today.”

He offered his hand and she took it.

“Next week we’ll do lunch, I promise.”

“Why not today?”

“Because my body is falling apart and I am learning not to push it.” He smiled at her softly, hoping she would see the truth in it. He dropped her hand and insisted, “Next week.”

Draco Disapparated before Hermione could respond, leaving her with a crumpled piece of parchment between her fingers.

. **oOo**.

Blaise’s house was in the middle of a Wizarding neighborhood known as Asphodel Garden. Draco’s parents always referred to it as the neighborhood where “the Galleons shine brighter.” Part of the Malfoy charm was their ability to make anyone feel tacky. 

Draco quite liked the neighborhood. The entrance was hidden down a side street in central London and the reveal always left him breathless. It wasn’t overly opulent, nothing like the gaudy houses in Belgravia that always sat empty. Asphodel Garden was the Wizarding suburbs, filled with homes big enough to show off and small enough to maintain. The residents had spouses and playgrounds where their kids would play with other kids and life’s problems always seemed solvable. 

Part of Draco desperately wanted to live in Asphodel Garden.

He walked along the street with his coat unbuttoned. Saturday was a far warmer day than it had any right to be; or perhaps it was just an anxious heat. Begrudgingly, Draco admitted to the latter. He spotted three children trading chocolate frog cards from the corner of his eye. Draco nodded at a woman who passed him while pushing her baby in a pram. That was another nice thing about this place, the residents didn’t judge him. They had at first, of course, but when he didn’t blow anyone’s head off the first few weeks, the neighborhood accepted his presence. 

It was fucking perfect.

He hopped up the three steps up to Blaise’s house and rapped his knuckles against the front door. Dean Thomas opened it a moment later with a guilty look on his face. Draco frowned and asked, 

“What did you do?”

“Right.” Dean awkwardly cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, not allowing Draco entry. “Just know this wasn’t my idea.” He stepped aside and Draco cautiously entered the foyer.

He turned the corner, walked into the kitchen, and immediately turned around. But Dean was there, spinning him back around and muttering,

“No, you don’t.”

Draco’s heart was beating quicker than it ever had. Blaise stood at the massive island in the middle of his kitchen, with Hermione Granger next to him. Granger was in a deep purple jumper with her hair pulled back and Blaise wore his apron that read, “Your opinion is not in the recipe.” They both looked over at him as he entered and if looks could kill Hermione would have sent Draco to hell seven times over. 

She greeted him with an eerily calm, “Malfoy.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“When you tell someone you have anorexia, you owe them a bit more of an explanation than a word on a piece of parchment.”

“That _was_ the explanation. What the hell is this, group therapy?”

Blaise smiled at him before saying, “This is lunch with friends!”

“Never realized we have a guest list.”

“Hermione is very persuasive,” Dean said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Well you lot have fun, I’ll be back around six if you’re here. If you’re not, enjoy the tartes.” 

Blaise shouted, “Love you!” as Dean turned to leave. 

He was met with the sound of the door slamming shut. Draco shared a quick, worried glance with Hermione before they both turned their gaze on Blaise. His smile vanished and he turned to the refrigerator.

“Change in plans.” He opened the doors and pulled out ingredients to sit on the island. “I know I promised fruit, but I am stress cooking.” Blaise continued to ramble on as though his guests were not even there. “Dean keeps spending time with his family, so much that I hardly saw him this past month. It’s fine, you know, he has seventy-two siblings to keep track of, but I still expect him to fit me in. Find time to love me too, because I love him and we live together. But no, of course not.” Blaise slammed a jar of olive oil onto the island with such force it cracked and spilled all over the counter. 

He stared at his hand for a moment, umoving. Granger started to reach for a towel, but Draco placed a hand on her thigh and shook his head almost imperceptibly. She caught on and they stared at Blaise until he came back to himself. He grabbed a cloth and pushed all the glass into a bin before mopping up the liquid. It was a slow process, and Draco knew better than to intervene. Blaise tossed the damp cloth into the sink and stared at the basin like if he thought hard enough, answers would flow out from the tap. His shoulders fell and his fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

“I think he might leave me.”

Hermione scoffed and said, “Dean will leave you when Merpeople cross the desert.”

Blaise grabbed another bottle of olive oil and placed it gently on the island. He spun it around once between his fingers.

“He keeps pulling away from me.” Blaise turned to Hermione and insisted, “Dean hasn’t said he loves me in weeks. He gets takeaway now! _Takeaway!_ And he invited Seamus over for dinner! Why would he bring his ex-boyfriend to dinner in our home unless—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Draco shouted. He rubbed his temples, trying to quell an oncoming headache. “Will you stop whinging?”

“I am not—”

“Do you remember our conversation on Tuesday?”

“Vividly.”

“Do you remember when I told you to stop making my problems, my goddamn anorexia about you?”

“Yes, but—”

“You say, ‘Draco, mate, I love you and I want to help you. Come over to my kitchen on Saturday so we can talk man-to-man about your problems, maybe even solve some of them. Teach you to make some food and strengthen our friendship.’ Then I come over to find Hermione Granger was invited, too.”

“She was not invited,” Blaise insisted. “She threatened Dean until he told her when you were coming over.”

“That’s true,” she confirmed without a hint of guilt.

“Regardless,” Draco continued, “I haven’t been here five minutes and everything is about you! The first question everyone asks when they find out I am ill is, ‘Why would you starve yourself like this?’ Because I have made the past eight years of my life about you! I lived through you and Theo and Bastien, making your problems my own so I could ignore everything that had gone wrong in my life. I lived through you so I could forget about being me. Now, you promised to help me fix this, so get the bloody hell on with it!”

Granger and Blaise stared at him for a long while, long enough to be uncomfortable. Draco picked up one of the ingredients and shook it. It appeared to be filled with bead-sized balls of grain.

“What is this?”

It was another moment before Blaise found his voice.

“Couscous.” He grabbed three large bowls from the island cabinet and sat one in front of each of them. “For the salad we have vegetable stock, couscous, asparagus tips, yellow peppers, cherry tomatoes, black olives, Grana Padano cheese, and fresh chives!”

Draco blinked over at him, convinced Blaise had missed the entire point of this exercise. 

Hermione took a deep breath before she asked, “Won’t this be a bit advanced for the two of us?”

“You saved the world and Draco survived the Dark Lord living in his house for years, but certainly we can alter course if the two of you will admit defeat by couscous.”

Hermione glared at him and said, “Bring it on, Chef Zabini.”

He smiled and rattled off the ingredients for the dressing. Olive oil, red wine vinegar (“Yes, Draco, it has to be red wine vinegar.”), English Mustard, salt, and pepper. Blaise gestured for them to move around the island and congregate around the stovetop. He Summoned the vegetable stock and poured it into a pan. 

“The first thing we have to do is bring this to a boil.”

“Right, well—” 

Hermione reached for her wand but Blaise grabbed her wrist and shook his head.

“The reason most magical chefs cook rubbish is that they use magic to cook food. Cooking is the art of timing, Granger, and magic cannot manipulate it to our benefit. Now we wait for this to boil and move to step two.”

Draco looked over at Hermione and recognized the look on her face. She had too many questions and did not know which to ask first. She settled on,

“Who taught you to cook?”

“My house-elf back in Modena. We are also going to boil some water and,” he Summoned a container of salt, “then we salt to taste. For a pan this size we will need half a handful.”

“Sorry, you learned to cook from a house-elf?”

“Yes,” Blaise nodded. He turned to face his guests and admitted, “My mother was never home. I always enjoyed food; it is something everyone needs. When I was little I believed that if I could make good food I would make loads of friends. Italy is the centre of the universe when it comes to food, but I always wanted to learn more. I went to Spain, Morocco, France, Mexico, Japan ... I followed the food and never stopped.”

“You were willing to learn something from a house-elf?” Hermione asked again.

“I was alone, except for Jinky. I freed him and he stayed with me until he died.”

“Aw.” Hermione smiled softly and placed her hand on her heart.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“The two of you are going to be insufferable.”

Blaise clapped his hands together and said, “I am putting the two of you to work! Draco, you will be grating the Grana Padano and Granger you get to de-seed the peppers then cut them into strips.”

Draco was happy to have something to keep his hands busy. He paused after a few minutes as Blaise instructed him on how to measure the couscous then dump it into the boiling chicken stock. He also tossed the asparagus tips into hot water before returning to the cheese. Hermione was progressing at an agonizingly slow pace, terrified of chopping off a finger. He stole one slice of a pepper and she playfully whacked his arm.

Draco laughed. It shouldn’t have been a strange thing, but Blaise looked at him with wide eyes, like it was a foreign sound. When was the last time he laughed? It felt like ages; perhaps it was. He felt good being around people who knew his darkest secret and weren’t judging him.

“Now, I am taking the asparagus out of the water and pouring it into a strainer so the water sinks through and the asparagus retains all that salt.” Blaise placed the pan on a soft holder before putting the asparagus into a pan of cold water. “It is a nice trick. The rapid change in temperature allows the asparagus to keep its crunch. Makes the dish twice as good.”

As the cooking progressed Draco forgot why they were in Blaise’s kitchen. At some point it became nothing more than three friends having lunch. A lunch Draco was unafraid to eat. As they prepared the salad in their individual bowls, Draco asked, 

“When did Dean begin acting strange?”

“A month ago, right after our anniversary dinner.” Blaise glanced over at a picture of him with Dean. With their foreheads pressed together and the sunset behind them, they looked like a perfect couple. He smiled softly and said, “We’ve been together two years.”

“Then you have your answer,” Hermione replied. She poured her dressing and dug right in, not noticing Draco and Blaise were expecting her to reveal an answer. “God, this is delicious!”

“Granger,” Draco offered, “being the brightest witch of the age, sometimes you tend to come to the conclusion before the rest of us have reached step two.”

“Oh! Right, of course, what did you do for your anniversary?”

“I took Dean to Modena for the first time. It was amazing. I made a special dinner and we had a picnic on a hill beneath the stars. I pointed out all the places I used to go when I was a child. It was the most romantic ... I dunno, Granger, what can I say? It was perfect.”

“Mmhmm, so you took your boyfriend to your childhood home. You made a spectacular dinner, had a picnic overlooking his hometown, probably a great shag ...”

“Two.”

“All of that gave Dean the wrong impression,” Hermione insisted.

Then the answer hit Draco right in the face.

“Oh, God, that makes so much sense!” He smiled at Hermione and admitted, “You are brilliant, you know that?”

She shrugged and joked, “I’ve heard that once or twice.”

“Oi! Will one of you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Draco took pity on him and revealed, “Dean probably thought you were going to propose.”

“Oh.” Blaise dug into his salad. “I can see why that would ... It makes sense ... He is distancing himself because he thinks I don’t want to get married. How did I not see that? I don’t deserve him.” Blaise paused to sip some water. His hand trembled around the glass. “He has been so patient with me. I never learned how to properly date someone.”

“That much I know,” Draco quipped.

“My mother was not a great role model, obviously, but Dean gave me the time to learn. He let me know when I was doing too much or not enough. Every time I look at him I think my heart might leap out of my chest and into his. I love him so much and I cannot understand what the hell he sees in me.”

“Dean says the same thing,” Hermione said. “He doesn’t believe he deserves you and has convinced himself you will dump him for someone better-looking.”

“Why does he do that?! I tell him all the time how cute he is. He laughs with his whole body, you know, practically folds himself in half.”

“All I can say is I know he loves you because he says it all the time. To me, to Gin, to anybody who will listen. Maybe he doesn’t feel safe saying it to you anymore because he thinks the two of you have different ideas for your future.”

Blaise looked down at his salad and spoke into the bowl.

“I already have a ring for him, but ... I never want to pressure him into it.”

“Then you talk about it, Blaise!” Draco shouted. “Do you believe Dean is stupid?”

“No.”

“Then you must admit he knows what he is doing. If he did not want to be with you then he wouldn’t be. He would not have moved into your house in Asphodel Garden if he didn’t want to make a life here with you.”

“I suppose you are right. How do you like the salad?”

Draco looked down at the bowl and smiled.

“It’s gone.”

Hermione raised her hand and Draco met her in the middle for a high-five.

“Nice work, Malfoy.”

“Thank you. Grating the cheese was an incredibly strenuous task, but in the end this was clearly worth it.”

“Well,” Blaise said with a heavy sigh, “it seems we solved about three of my problems and none of yours.”

“Not entirely true,” Draco countered. “I ate food and didn’t hate it, which is a win. I don’t regret it, so mark that down as another win. And for the first time in a decade I did not have to hide part of myself away. This has been fun.”

“Have I redeemed myself a bit, then?”

“A bit.”

“Excellent!”

“Right, so are you going to write this recipe down for us, or ...?”

**.oOo.**

Draco left an hour later, right behind Hermione. They walked slowly toward the neighborhood entrance and it was nice. The whole day had been quite nice. Hermione quietly asked, 

“Will you tell me how it happened?”

Draco had to think about the question for several seconds before he understood it. 

“Truthfully, I don’t even get hungry anymore, an empty stomach is what feels right. It feels like the default. I suppose it started as an accident. I stopped eating and I liked being hungry. Then I began craving it, like I needed to be starving to function. If I wasn’t, I was thinking about how much food I had eaten and what I needed to do to regain balance. After a time, it became too easy and turned into a habit, then the habit became a coping mechanism. ”

“For what?”

“Life, really. After my trial I looked back at everything I had done with no idea how to atone for it. Any time I could forget enough to escape it, the reminder was right there on my arm.”

Granger glanced down at his left forearm; it was covered by his jumper and coat but she knew what was there. Everyone knew.

“Everything I hated about myself and what I did began to pile up behind a wall in my mind. I ignored it all and hoped it would go away. Eventually the wall began to crack. I always thought I could get back to where I had been, but the wall crumbled and my mind was filled with scattered memories I would rather not have. God bloody well knows my parents fucked me up far past the point of repair.”

“I don’t believe that,” Hermione said. “I think even today you made progress.”

“Progress is relative. Penelope says this is about control, but that is not the whole of it. Not everything in my head could fit behind the wall. There was no way for me to deal with everything I did during the war. Every time I thought about it, I thought, ‘I don’t deserve to eat. Hell, I barely deserve to live.’ I wanted to starve until I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. I wanted to take up as little space as possible because I hated being Draco Malfoy and I wanted to rid myself of everything ... And ... I dunno, Granger. I don’t fucking know why I did this and why I continue to do it. I don’t know.”

“You deserve to live.” Hermione looped her arm around Draco’s and pulled herself close. “I know the people at your trial tried to make you believe otherwise.”

“They succeeded.”

“But you deserve more than what you were given.”

“One day, I hope to believe that.”

Hermione slowed their pace to ask, “Why aren’t you an arsehole anymore?”

“I think if you ask my friends, they will confirm that title still fits quite well,” Draco answered with a laugh.

“Seriously, why aren’t you making jokes about my hair and referring to me as a ‘Mudblood?’”

“If it’s jokes about your hair that you’re after—”

“Malfoy.” 

Her tone was suddenly very somber. Draco looked over at her to see worried, curious eyes glaring back at him. Perhaps she should know it all. He owed her that much, didn’t he? Draco sighed heavily and let his shoulders slump, keeping his eyes on the path ahead.

“Look, Granger, the entire time you knew me I was trying to be my father.”

“I know that much.”

“Well, I wanted to be the baddie. I could be a horrible person, I did terrible things, but when it came to sacrificing lives? When it came to true evil I was never able to stomach it. After Hogwarts I realized there was a key difference between myself and my father: he never saw himself as the baddie. He believed what he was doing was right, while I always knew in my soul that it was wrong. What I said and did to you was horrible and I apologize for all of it.”

Hermione considered it a moment before saying, “Apology somewhat accepted.”

“Somewhat?”

“You’ll have to work a little harder for it,” she teased. “But we’ve got four more weeks, you’ll get there.”

The neighborhood entrance was only a block away. Draco found himself wishing for more time with Hermione, time without Blaise.

“I don’t know what I will do without our post-therapy lunches once you are gone. It felt important.”

“It felt important because we agreed to be friends.”

“Is that what happened?”

“We have seen the worst in each other, right?”

Draco nodded.

“Perhaps it’s those people who are also meant to see the very best.” Granger held out her hand. “Friends?”

Draco took her hand in his and agreed, “Friends.”


	10. Blood in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never trust five-year-olds with a secret, because they will absolutely tell their parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Purging

Life was so good.

Draco was friends with Hermione Granger. He had eaten food in front of his friends. He ate two meals in one day with no need to vomit them up or run them off. On Sunday he even ate lunch with his father in the study. Three meals in a fucking row.

Progress.

He skipped dinner but figured three out of four meals wasn’t bad. He woke up on Monday morning, excited for what the day would bring. It was his day to nanny the twins since both Theo and Tracey had to work. He pulled on a green robe and trainers then dashed out the door so quickly he nearly forgot his coat. 

Draco hopped the steps up to Theo’s front door in one go, unaffected by the chill. He was shaking with happiness, determined to give himself one week filled with successes. One week when he could sit down in Penelope’s office and tell her, “I did everything right.”

Theo opened the door before Draco could knock, but not enough to allow him entry. Theo wrapped his fingers around the door and glared at him.

Oh.

_Oh, no._

Draco went numb. He couldn’t feel anything except the weight of Theo’s disapproval hanging in the air.

“How bad is it?” Theo asked.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I took the day off. How bad is it?”

“How bad is what?” Draco replied. Pretending he didn’t know anything seemed like a reasonable option. Preferable to the conversation he knew was coming.

Then a small voice rang out somewhere in the hallway.

“I’m so sorry, Uncle Draco!” Scarlett shouted. She ran between Theo and the door to grab onto Draco’s leg. “Sorry!”

He stiffened and asked, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t mean to say it!” she said, begging Draco to understand. “But ... but I said you were sick.”

“So I’m asking you again,” Theo said through gritted teeth, “how bad is it?”

“Bad enough for me not to tell you!” he shouted back. “Did you wonder, perhaps, why I hadn’t?”

“Yes, and that is why we’re doing this now. I want to know what’s going on with my best friend.”

“Oh, sod this.” Draco pulled Scarlett’s hands off the leg of his trousers and hurried down the stairs. It was too fucking early in the morning for this conversation. 

“Draco!” Theo was hot on his heels. “DRACO, STOP!”

“No!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Scarlett said you are dying.”

Draco turned around and yelled, “Why would you care if I am?! Because you wouldn’t have a nanny any longer?”

“You know that’s not why.” Theo made his way down the steps and Draco took three steps back to maintain the distance. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be at dinner then have your kid mention out of fucking nowhere that they should spend more time with ‘Uncle Draco’ because he might die soon?” He paused a moment to allow that to sink in. “If you are ill you owe me a goddamn explanation!”

“I have given my life to your family, Theo! I owe you nothing!”

“It is _our_ family! You cannot keep things like this from me!”

That made him angrier than anything else Theo could say. Draco considered reaching for his wand, but Sebastien appeared in the doorway alongside his sister. That sobered Draco up enough to ditch that notion. Instead, he sneered at Theo in what he knew was a perfect imitation of his father.

“ _Cannot?_ Do you hear yourself?! Why do you think you have that sort of authority over me?”

“You have a responsibility to us, so yes, you tell us when something goes wrong.”

“The reason I never told you I was ill is because you never needed to know! I am fine; I am handling it!”

“Then why do my kids think you are dying?!”

“Because they are _five years old_ , Theo!” Draco shouted so loud his voice cracked. “They see me and think I am sad because I don’t smile enough. They hear you call me sad or depressed or unhappy. Then they hear I am ill and because they are five fucking years old they put all that together and think I am dying.”

“Then why do I get the feeling you are?”

“Because you finally started paying attention!”

Surprised, Theo took a step forward to ask, “What does that mean?”

“It means you overlooked my problems for far too long, and they,” he pointed toward the twins, “broke a promise. Family does not do that.”

Then he Disapparated.

**.oOo.**

Draco had lunch in his room.

Plates upon plates had been delivered; so many that his duvet was nearly covered with them. He started with bacon. Perfectly crisp, and he smiled at the sound it made as the first strip broke between his teeth. It tasted amazing. He could’ve had six strips or ten; Draco chose not to count. It wasn’t as though it mattered.

He was fine.

He was totally and completely fine, regardless of what Theo believed. As though he knew better? Draco could eat as much fucking food as he wanted ... and he would. Draco swallowed a full glass of water after the bacon. He followed every plate with a full glass of water, because it made life easier. It broke down the food, made it mush so it wouldn’t scrape his throat as it clawed back up.

He dove into a bowl of berries. It was comfort food; food he loved before his life turned to hell. Then it was a plate of sausage rolls, then cured ham and a salad. There were a few macarons toward the foot of the bed, which Draco slowly bit into, savouring the cookie as it melted on his tongue. 

It caught up to him halfway through a bowl of soup. As if he had been observing himself eat the food then was forcibly slammed back into his full, bloated body. Draco looked toward the bathroom and thought, _I don’t need to do this_. He repeated it, _I don’t need to do this_ , but knew that he did. Even tossing his legs over the side of the bed was different. He tried to stand up but fell backward since his legs had turned to jelly. Everything about his body was off-balance and there was only one way to make it right again.

He had two Puking Pastilles left in the drawer from his run to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Draco barely had to think, grabbing one was muscle memory. He didn’t bother putting a towel down or with any of his other rituals. He needed to feel normal as quickly as possible, and that meant getting all the food _out_. 

Draco bit off the orange end and hardly had time to lift the lid before he vomited into the toilet. There was so much of it he hardly had room to breathe. He wiped splashback off his face onto his shoulder and took a deep breath when he could. Some of it dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt, but Draco’s fingers never moved from the porcelain bowl. It hardly took any effort, really, since the food had little time to digest. 

But then it stopped coming.

The food was gone, but he felt just as full. He dry heaved into the bowl for five minutes before flushing the contents and collapsing. Draco pressed his cheek to the cool floor as his body continued to tremble. He was exhausted, but there was more, he felt it. So he pushed himself up onto his elbows and slowly crawled over to the vanity. Draco waved his hand so the drawer opened, and the final pastille floated down into his waiting palm. He bit off the orange end and let the purple fall to the floor. 

Dry heaves continued, but the toilet remained empty. Then a strange, yellow-green bile shot up his throat and plopped into the water. That gave Draco pause, because it wasn’t something he had eaten. He winced as every breath felt like fire in his throat. Through it all, he heaved again and again, shutting his eyes, praying that the feeling of fullness would disappear.

It didn’t.

The tremors were worse. Draco couldn’t sit up any longer and collapsed against the edge of the tub. He Summoned one of the purple ends and managed to swallow, though his throat felt as if it had been burned raw. He rested there on the floor for a few minutes and wondered when the up-and-down of this disease would end. Wondering if it ever would.

**.oOo.**

Draco woke awhile later with cotton mouth. The shaking had stopped, but he was dizzy. He gripped the top of the tub with one hand and slowly pulled himself up, waiting for the world to come back into focus. When it did, he realized he hadn’t bothered to flush the remaining contents of the toilet.

He glanced inside and, for a moment, the world stopped turning. There were tiny strands of pink mixed into the bowl. The more he abused his body, the more it fought back. As Draco flushed the contents away, he realized that one way or another this was yet another war that he would lose.

**.oOo.**

Theo came to the manor that evening, Sebastien in tow. Draco greeted them wearing velvet pyjama bottoms and a heavy jumper. The chill hadn’t left him.

“Sebastien insisted we come over to apologize,” Theo said.

Draco sighed and picked Sebastien up to rest against his hip. Draco didn’t remember him being so heavy.

“Head to the parlor; we need to talk alone. I’ll take Seb to the kitchens for some biscuits, yeah?”

Sebastien nodded in reply, but no sooner had Theo left than he began to cry.

“I’m so sorry! I never broke the promise, Uncle Draco!” he whined. “Scarlett told!”

Draco’s heart softened a bit.

“I believe you.”

Sebastien’s voice was quiet when he asked, “Then you still love me?”

Draco kissed the top of his head and said, “I will always love you. And I am sorry I yelled at you.”

Sebastien tightened his grip on Draco’s waist.

“Scarlett said you would hate us.”

“Your sister is a drama queen.” Draco smiled and admitted, “That may be my influence.”

“Are you sure you’re not gonna die?”

“Well ...” Draco didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t lie. “I am going to be here for as long as I can be.”

Sebastien’s eyes filled with tears again.

“You didn’t say no!”

“I know, Seb, I know. But you love me, right?”

He nodded.

“And I love you, so that is all that matters. The only thing that matters.” Draco placed Sebastien down outside the kitchen doors and insisted that he, “Go inside and tell the elves I said to feed you biscuits and some milk.”

Sebastien perked up a bit at that, all thoughts of Draco’s demise seemingly forgotten. Draco wished he could forget so easily himself, but slowly trudged back upstairs toward the parlor where Theo was waiting. 

He told himself it was only a little blood; not much. It was nothing to worry about, probably a side effect of using two pastilles. Draco knew it was a lie and wondered how long he could continue lying to himself about this. How long before he no longer even had that option.

Theo was waiting in one of the parlor’s cushioned chairs. Draco plopped onto the sofa across from him and sighed. He knew exactly what needed to be done, but saying it aloud made it final. He would not be able to take it back once he started down this road. So he took a deep, shaky breath before saying,

“You need to make someone else godparent to the twins.”

“Why? Is your illness that serious? Are you contagious? Is it Dragon Pox?”

“No, nothing like that.” Draco scrubbed his palm over his face. He took a deep breath before admitting, “I thought after Blaise this would get easier.”

Theo flinched.

“Blaise knows?”

“Yes, and he did not take it well. I just gave Granger a note—”

“She knows?”

“We are friends, now.”

“So you are just replacing me with Blaise and Hermione Granger.”

Draco laughed sardonically.

“You know that is not possible.”

Theo shifted anxiously in the chair before insisting, “Tell me what is going on.”

“I have an illness that is ... unusual in nature.”

“Unusual how?”

“More common in Muggles, apparently. I only know one other person with anything like it, and it isn’t the same. Essentially, I starve myself.” When Theo didn’t respond, Draco added, “Intentionally.”

Theo looked down at his feet, crossed his arms, and said, “I know.”

Draco looked up at him and demanded, “What do you mean, you _know_?”

“For awhile I told myself it was stress, because you never eat anything at family dinners. You would chop food into tiny pieces, move it around a bit, then eat a couple bites hoping no one noticed. I just assumed you didn’t like Trace’s cooking. I didn’t know it was this, not until Astoria came to me.”

Draco dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand, swallowing the betrayal.

“Astoria told you?”

“About a week before you split. I hoped you would get better, but you’ve only gotten worse.”

Somehow, Theo having known all that time felt more like a betrayal than Blaise’s outright ignorance. How many others knew and hadn’t said anything? Who else had Astoria told?

“When you said I looked sadder ...”

“It felt like you had given up.”

Draco felt water build up in the corners of his eyes.

“I told my father a month ago. My hair started falling out. It’s slowed dramatically, thank God, but I am seeing a therapist.”

“That’s amazing!” Theo’s eyes lit up and he smiled. “Shouldn’t that make you happy?”

Draco shook his head and choked on a sob.

“Honestly, Theo, it’s made me so much worse because I am terrified of getting better. I have made my life about you and Blaise and Bastien, your kids, and distracted myself from my own life. Therapy made me realize I cannot control this; I am terrified of getting better and that is why I think you should name someone else as godparent. Can hardly be responsible for myself now, how can I care for your kids?”

The silence that followed was so awkward that Draco tried to melt into the couch. 

Eventually, Theo asked, “What brought this on?”

“It’s that I don’t know how—” Draco sniffled and wiped the snot from beneath his nose. “Shit, just once I would like to get through this without crying. The truth is, Theo, I dunno how much longer I am going to be here.”

Theo didn’t react. Blaise and Hermione got angry while everyone else seemed to pity him. This was worse. It was as if he’d hit Theo with a wandless Stunning Spell for all Theo was able to move. Draco wanted a reaction, just wanted _something_. He swallowed thickly and words followed the tears.

“I try to eat more now, but I hate it and I hate myself for doing it. The smallest thing could push me over the edge and I won’t be able to come back from it this time. It started with my hair, but how long before the rest of me stops working?” He wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “I am cold all the time and I shake. The worst part is that I don’t see those as problems. Food is the problem. So what can I do? I’ll be on the floor after throwing up a meal and I just want it to end. Think about offing myself in those moments. I’d never go through with it, of course, but I dunno how much longer I can fight this. And that’s why you need to give them a new godparent, because today is just the start. I have more bad moments than good; Scarlett and Seb deserve better than who I am right now.”

Draco wrapped his arms around his waist like he could shield himself from the pain of Theo’s reply. When he looked up, Theo had tears tracking down his face, too. He took a deep, shaky breath before he spoke.

“If the war taught me anything it’s that anyone can die at any time for any reason. Trace and I chose you because if one of us dies the other will be able to rely on you. And if, Merlin forbid, we both die while the twins are young they’ll have you. They love you and I made you so much a part of my life because you needed a family, but maybe I didn’t give you enough space to have your own life.”

They were quiet for awhile as Theo considered what to say next. Draco wiped away more snot with his sleeve. Theo stood up quite suddenly from his seat and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I’ll get Sebastien from the kitchen. I don’t want him to see you like this, it’ll only make things worse.”

That hurt more than just about anything he could have said.

“I am truly sorry I let you suffer for so long. The one example I want to set for my kids is that we support our friends and our family. I will always be here for you. We may not share blood, but you are my brother, goddamn it! As long as you’re breathing you are the godfather to my kids and I will not listen to another word on the matter. Scarlett will be ready to apologize next time you come over, but I suggest giving it a few days.”

Draco felt hope rise up in his chest. Could it be possible? Was he good enough for this, to keep this one privilege he valued above everything else?

Draco weakly offered, “Lunch on Thursday?”

“We’d all love that.” Theo turned to walk away.

“Theo?”

“Yeah?”

“After all this, if I get well—”

“Draco, I love you, but you have two options. You either get better and learn to deal with your shit, or you let my kids watch you wither away until you die. Your choice.”

He left without another word.


	11. What Do You Want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally begins to put some pieces together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy is a moron, and if you vomit or cough up blood you need to go to the hospital. Do not be a Draco.

Draco had his hair cut on Tuesday.

Gabe was quick and efficient, gentle around the roots. The dark tones of the barber shop seemed to insulate him from the outside world, where he left all his problems for a half hour. Romilda even stopped by to ask how he was doing. There were so many thoughts jumping around inside his head, he didn’t have any idea how to answer. The highs of Saturday then the lows of Monday; he just wanted something steady. All Draco could think to say was,

“I’m gonna stop.”

“Yeah?”

“I have to.” 

Romilda patted his shoulder like she knew why he said it. Then again, she probably understood the terror of coughing up blood more than anyone. 

“It’s early and you have a lot to learn. But if you try to bend yourself back into shape, you’ll snap back so fast it might break you in half. If you start eating all the time, you’ll feel the same as you do now except you’ll be fat, too.”

“Romi!” Gabriel whisper-shouted at her. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged, “he knows I’m right. His entire life has been about how much he hates himself, and if he doesn’t deal with the past he’ll keep finding new reasons to hate himself.”

“Draco doesn’t have bulimia; it’s different.”

“No,” Draco revealed, “I think she is right.”

“Gabe and I, we know gaining weight isn’t a bad thing. You don’t understand that yet. It takes time.”

Draco frustratedly asked, “Why? Why don’t I get it now?”

“Because you think food is the enemy. The sooner you figure out what actually is, the sooner you’ll begin to stop.”

Draco considered that for a minute. It had never been about gaining weight, the problem had always been something he was too afraid to admit to himself.

“On a lighter note,” Gabriel pulled Draco from his thoughts, “none of your hair fell out today.”

“See?” Romilda smiled at him. “Even wanting to change can bring about good results. Just don’t push yourself too far.”

**.oOo.**

Draco thought about that all afternoon, then he dreamt about it. He ended up at Blaise’s house the following afternoon, with Blaise conspicuously absent.

“He’s taken to avoiding me entirely,” Dean said with a slight hiccup.

Draco had never seen Dean drunk before. A couple glasses of champagne had always made him funnier, but a few glasses of Firewhisky lifted all his filters. Day drinking was not something either of them usually did, but right then it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. Draco was spread out on the living room sofa while Dean sat on the floor with his head resting against one of the cushions. 

He whined, “It’s been two years!” 

There was something calm about the light filtering through the window as the sun set. The gentle hum of kitchen appliances made for peaceful background noise. Draco could have stayed just like that for the rest of his life.

“I really thought he’d propose on our anniversary. When didn’t, I assumed he believed I was hung up on Seamus or something.” Hiccup! “So I invited Shea over to dinner to prove him wrong, but it only made things worse. We haven’t had sex in weeks.” Hiccup! “Weeks!”

Draco closed his eyes and sighed.

“Have you two ever talked about marriage?”

“No,” Dean admitted, staring hopefully at the half-empty bottle on the coffee table. “I think we’re both scared to bring it up. What we had was so nice that neither of us wanted to ruin it.”

“Maybe Blaise is still too scared to bring it up.”

“Why would he be scared? I am his. ‘M never gonna,” Hiccup! “Gonna love anybody like I love him.”

Draco grasped for his glass and plucked it from its spot on the floor, pushing himself into a sitting position against the arm of the sofa.

“His mother killed her husbands, so my guess is that he is afraid he never learned to do relationships properly. Let alone a marriage.” Draco downed the remaining contents of his glass. “Maybe you need to let him know that you trust him to do this right. Let him know that you feel mistakes are fixable. Tell him how important it is that you’re married, that you get to introduce him to everyone as your husband. The both of you know you’ll be together forever, and this is the way to prove that to the rest of the world.”

“Huh.” Dean placed his glass on the table and turned to face Draco. “When did you get so smart about these things?”

“I did date Blaise for a time, you know.”

“I thought it would be awkward at first, the two of you still being so close.”

“Well it was never about an endgame for us, I was trying to get back into the world of dating and dating my best friend seemed like an easy first step. It was never anything more than that for me, though I will say I wish it could have been. But the moment he first told me about you it was like he finally understood what the hell Theo always talks about. He understood why it was important to have a person who wants to make their life happen alongside yours. After that, Blaise never considered living life without you.”

Dean smiled softly and said, “That could happen for you, too.”

Draco laughed.

“Not likely.”

“I’d say it’s,” Hiccup! “I’d say it’s more about you not trying than anything else.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “How do you mean?”

“Kinsley went off to university and was scared because everything was different. She needed to control things, so she went after the one thing she could control. With you, it’s still about control but you let things get so far out of hand that you’ve convinced yourself nothing is ever going to be right again. That’s why you don’t think this can happen.”

Draco Summoned the bottle of Firewhisky and took a swig without bothering to pour himself a glass.

“Yeah.”

“So what do you think is the problem? What have you been trying to control?”

Draco shrugged and admitted, “Dunno. Not really trying to control anything.”

“Then ... are you avoiding something?”

Buoyed by whiskey-induced courage, Draco nodded.

“What is it?” 

“Y’know, I’ve been doing this for so long that I don’t really remember what it was like to be hungry. To know what it feels like to want food because you need it. Everything I eat is for someone else. D’you know what’s completely mad?”

“Draco, I‘m gonna be honest, your life is insane.”

“That’s just it; I hate thinking about my life. Can’t stand it. That is why I work so hard for Blaise and Theo, then Bastien and Pans when they need me. Fuck my parents, they are the reason I’m in this goddamn mess in the first place. I hate them so much, but they are also trying their best to help me through this, so I feel like I can’t hold that over them anymore.”

“You absolutely can,” Dean insisted. “You blame who is to blame, but you do it while moving forward.”

“That’s the problem.” Draco took another swig from the bottle and winced as it burned his throat. He thought he’d be used to that. “Don’t wanna move forward. Afraid to move forward.”

“Why?”

And then it hit Draco like a fucking train, the answer he’d been looking for. 

Why? 

“Because I am afraid to try again.” Oh, Merlin, he felt the tears well up and his words began to stick together. “I’ve been like this for s’long, Dean. S’many bloody years. Right now this disease is what makes me unhappy, now I have something to blame. What if I start eating food again and‘m still not happy? That’s even more terrifying, innit?”

“Didn’t you just tell me not to be afraid of pursuing what I want?”

“Well that’s you, and you’re _you_. People like you. You’re great. You’re nice n’ funny n’ you don’t judge people. You’re tall and—”

“You’re tall.”

“Thanks, Dean. That’s about all I have going for me.”

“That and a huge pile of Galleons,” Dean teased.

“Yeah, well, I just need a place to start, y’know? Something to hold onto that feels like it’s always going to be there. Something that wasn’t part of my life through all this.”

Dean hummed quietly before asking, “How did things go with Hermione?”

“Granger?”

“Is there another one?”

Draco shrugged.

“We’re friends now.”

“And?”

“And she’s funny. Has she always been funny?”

“No one ever gave her the opportunity to be funny.”

“I dunno, when we were together in 8th year she was so focused, I hardly ever saw her outside of the library or class.”

Dean’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Not that sort of together,” Draco amended, “she helped me with coursework. Distracted me from the trial preparations with lectures on Arithmancy. We were friendly, is all. Potter and Weasley weren’t around, so she was much more tolerable.”

“Maybe it was because you were less of a dick.”

“Probably.”

“Now there’s no Arithmancy to do, but she came anyway.”

“As I said,” Draco quipped, “we’re friends.”

“Once she realized why you were seeing Penelope she felt terrible for taking you to lunch.”

“She shouldn’t. Lunch with her was the closest I’ve felt to myself in ages.”

“Hmm.”

Draco pointed the bottle at him and demanded to know, “What was that, ‘Hmm?’”

Dean shrugged and grumbled, “Nothing,” with a teasing smile.

“That wasn’t a nothing, that was a something.”

“You said you’re looking for something that wasn’t part of your life. Maybe you’ve already found it.”

“Not likely. We’re friends. She’s not even attractive.”

“Liar.”

“Not lying,” Draco insisted, though he was, in fact, lying.

“She isn’t looking for a relationship, anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean grinned and asked, “Why, do you care?”

“Ooh, oh you’re a sneaky bastard, Dean Thomas, but I don’t care.”

“Fine, then.”

“But, if I did?”

“Yeah, Malfoy, I’m sure.”

Draco ignored the swell of disappointment in his chest and took another swig from the bottle. 

“Right, then. My friend, Hermione Granger. Perfect.”

**.oOo.**

Draco woke up on Blaise’s sofa at eight-thirty the following morning, curled around an empty bottle of Firewhisky, using his robe as a blanket. He presumed Dean went to bed sometime during the night, as the house was still and the six-four string bean was nowhere to be found.

He Apparated to the manor, took a quick shower, and somehow managed to walk through the doors of Clearwater & Patil at 9:59. He followed Penelope back to her office, sat down in his usual chair, then said,

“I decided to stop purging my food.”

Penelope plopped into her chair behind the desk and said, “Hello to you, too.”

Draco shrugged off his coat and insisted, “Truly, I am finished.”

“What brought this on?” Penelope dipped her quill in ink and prepared to take notes. “Are you certain this is something you can guarantee?”

“There was blood this time.”

The colour quickly drained from Penelope’s face. She looked Draco in the eyes and said,

“You need to go to the hospital. How long ago was this?”

“No hospitals. I am fine, just overdid it on the Puking Pastilles and it won’t happen again. I am never doing that again.”

“You need—”

“No.”

“As your therapist—”

“As my therapist you understand no one at St. Mungo’s would know how to treat me. It is over and done with. I will go if I cough up more, but it has been three days and I am fine. I will, however, admit that it woke me up a bit.”

Penelope’s quill snapped in half. She gave him a tight smile then fished another one out of a drawer. 

Draco revealed, “Theo knows now.”

“You told him?”

“His daughter told him.”

“And?”

“And he was a complete cock about it.”

“How so?” She began scribbling on her parchment. “Did he react as Blaise did?

“No, he hardly reacted at first since this was not a surprise. Apparently Astoria told him months ago.”

“Is it time we talk about her?”

“No,” Draco snapped. “No. Not today.”

“Go on, then.”

“He said that I will keep my responsibility to his family, even though I tried to give it up, because he is my brother in every way but name and blood. While my father believes those are all that matter, I think Theo has done a damn good job proving otherwise. However, he said I have a responsibility to his kids, not to let them watch me wither away like this until I die.”

Penelope groaned low in her throat.

“He guilted you.”

Draco nodded.

“Did it work, then?” she asked. “Is that why you decided to stop, or was it the blood?”

“As much as I wish I could say Theo had any role in my deciding to quit, I think I decided a few days earlier. This was just unfortunate timing.”

“What happened a few days earlier?”

Draco smiled and said, “I made a friend. She made me realize people can change for the better. Moreover, _I_ can change for the better. I was at Blaise’s house and we made lunch. It was some sort of asparagus salad, delicious, obviously, but for the first time in a decade I was not afraid to eat in front of people. They did not look at me as someone who is ill, or like they could gain something from me. This was a good time between friends; me, Granger, and Blaise just enjoying the afternoon.”

One raised eyebrow was the only indication Penelope caught the mention of Hermione. Her quill did not slow down for even a fraction of a second.

“That is when I decided there would be no more purging.”

“No more?” Penelope asked, skeptically. 

Draco confirmed, “No more. I want to be here. I have responsibilities to people here.”

“That is a common trap patients fall into,” Penelope said with a sigh. She kept writing. “If you want to get better, then you need a reason to get better.”

“I have loads of reasons. My godchildren, my friends, continuing the Malfoy line, et cetera.”

Penelope tapped the nib of her quill against the parchment.

“Again, with other people. What is it that you want, Draco?”

He thought for a moment before answering, “I want to see my godchildren grow up.”

“Other people.”

“I want to be the best man at Blaise’s wedding.”

“Again, other people.”

“Right, well, I’d like to help Bastien and Pans—”

“Other—”

“ALRIGHT!” Draco shouted. He bent forward, forehead against his knees and hands clasped on the nape of his neck. He stayed like that for a minute, breathing as slowly as he could before sitting up again. He looked right at Penelope and admitted, “Yes, I live my life for other people. You’ve made your point.”

“You never answered my question. What do you want?”

“I dunno.”

“Right, Draco,” Penelope said his name like it was an exasperated sigh of frustration. “In school they teach us not to presume responses, or to assume anything about you aloud. However, I know you and you’re a good actor; you have an amazing ability to turn parts of yourself on and off at will, which is why this is so difficult for you. For you to recover, you have to be whole. So tell me, what do you want to do that will make you feel whole again?”

Draco took a deep, shuddery breath. He was not going to cry again. There were only so many days in a row he could break down in sobs before noon. Of course, Penelope was right. She was always right. Draco willed back the tears but his voice was thick with them when he finally spoke.

“I want to prove everyone is wrong about me.”

Penelope put down her quill and asked, “Wrong how?”

“I know everyone believes I am no better than my father. That I am nothing more than a shinier, sluttier version of him. And ... And I don’t want to be that! I do not want to be someone who constantly searches elsewhere for leadership, someone who caves into darkness because it is easy and it feels good. I don’t want to have a son, only to force him to become a soldier in a war that began before he was born. I don’t want to live in a giant goddamn house with our bloodstained history written across every wall! Everyone I meet looks at me and sees my father and I tried for so long to change that.”

“You’ve been trying for ten years.”

“Yeah—wait, what?”

“The second time you sat down in that chair, you said you wanted to whittle away the parts of yourself that you hated. The parts of you that are your father. Your body, Draco, is what makes people think of your father, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“It’s what makes _you_ think of your father.”

Yes.

“You tried to change your body so you could look at yourself and see someone else.”

Draco’s jaw dropped open. He sputtered out,

“Oh my God.”

“So I’m asking you again,” Penelope said softly, “what do you want?”

Only one tear managed to escape, but Draco did not bother wiping it away.

“I want to be loved, I think.” He shrank into himself a bit, pulling his robe more tightly around him. “By someone who has nothing to gain from me, who just wants to be with me because they see a place for me in their life and want me there. They want me to be the person at their side for the rest of their life because I am Draco Malfoy and they love me. I want someone to trust that I can be a good husband and a better father. I want a family of my own to prove that not all Malfoys are fuckups, not all of us care about blood and names and tradition. I made my life about Blaise and Theo and Bastien and Pansy. But I think I did it because I never thought anyone could love me the way I want. I truly believed my friends were the closest thing to family I could ever have.”

“Do you still believe that?”

How could he not? Was there anyone who would ever be willing to see Draco the way he wanted to see himself? He couldn’t think of anyone who would allow him to show them the man he wanted to be.

“I don’t know.”


	12. We Do Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione do lunch. Then they do lunch again.

“Another rough one?”

Hermione was perched on the arm of one of the chairs in the waiting area. Draco grimaced and fiddled with his gloves.

“How can you tell?”

“You look like you’re contemplating tossing yourself off the roof.”

He’d never say it was that bad. In these four weeks, Draco had begun to trust Penelope. She held his confidence in a way no one else did. She remained judgement-free to his face, at least. Draco never worried she would say something to upset him. Penelope kept building the bridge in front of him and it was up to Draco to keep moving forward.

“I suppose Penelope helps me put the pieces together and make sense of everything. Not _everything_ , but I always leave wondering how the hell I failed to see this before. She sees things so clearly while I have been blind for ten bloody years.”

Hermione gave him a wan smile and patted him on the arm.

“It’s her job to do that. And as your friend, it is my job to take you to lunch.”

“Right, yes,” Draco held the door open as Hermione walked through. “We have a date.”

“Do we, now?”

He offered his hand and said, “In fact, it’s a double.”

**.oOo.**

Draco opened the door to Theo’s house and shouted, “Sebastien! Scarlett!”

Tracey appeared first, however. She wore business robes which meant she was likely on her way to the Ministry. Unfortunate way to spend a day. She greeted him with a hug and said,

“Everything’s going to be okay. And don’t worry, I yelled at Theo for using our kids to guilt you. That was wrong, and if he does it again I’ll have his bollocks in a jar.”

Draco laughed as he pulled away.

“Thanks, Trace. Where are the kids?”

“I think Seb is trying to drag Scarlett out of their room.” Tracey patted Draco on the shoulder, but the reassurance fell flat. “Don’t be too hard on her, she was just trying to help and ...” She paused and raised her eyebrows. “Why is Hermione Granger in my house?”

Draco turned over his shoulder to see Hermione wave, awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“Right, yeah, Granger and I do lunch on Thursdays so I thought I would bring her along.”

“You two?” Tracey chuckled. When neither Draco or Hermione laughed along, she mumbled, “Oh. You two ... do lunch?”

“On Thursdays,” Hermione added.

“Saturdays as well, now.” Draco smiled and asked Hermione, “You are coming Saturday?”

“After last week? I wouldn’t miss it.”

Tracey looked between the two of them with an amused glimmer in her eyes. 

“I’m off to renew my business license. No sweets for the kids, alright?”

“Of course not,” Draco insisted. “I am a responsible godfather.”

“Sure you are.”

Draco laughed as Tracey blew past them, right out the door. The moment she pulled it shut, Hermione looked up at Draco in exasperation.

“Why am I here?”

“Because we do lunch. Now, follow me to meet the two most important people in my life.”

“I’ve already met your parents and it’s never gone well.”

Draco actually snorted with laughter.

“Apologies, I suppose that is what someone like you would think. I should have said the two people I love most.”

“What do you mean, ‘someone like me?’”

“Poor phrasing on my part, but you know why I am seeing Penelope. You know my parents are the ones who drove me to this point. Everyone else to a lesser extent, but it was their responsibility to keep me safe and healthy and they failed remarkably on both counts. Why the hell would you think they are the people I love most?”

“Well—”

“I would have to consider whether they even make the top ten.”

“You really know how to cheer up a moment, don’t you?”

As Draco ascended the stairs, he began to count people aloud on his fingers.

“There’s the twins, Trace, and Theo. We are already at four, Granger, not looking favourable.” He was halfway upstairs when he rattled off, “Blaise makes a full hand. Then there’s Bastien and I suppose Pans has to make the list, though we haven’t spoken it a bit.”

“Why not?”

“Astoria ruined a lot of things for me,” Draco answered. “That is all you need to know.”

“Are we not ready for that conversation?” Hermione asked.

“I haven’t had that conversation with anyone, Granger.” He sighed heavily. “As much fun as this has been, I don’t know if I would start with you.”

She pressed her lips together and mumbled, “Right.”

Before he could try to save the moment, Sebastien came running down the hall and shouted,

“UNCLE DRACO!”

Draco smiled and knelt to scoop Sebastien up in his arms. It felt like their last meeting hadn’t even happened. Perhaps in Sebastien’s mind, it hadn’t. Draco stood up and turned around to see Hermione looking a bit frazzled. He ruffled Sebastien’s hair a bit and Seb playfully swatted his hand away.

“Sebastien, this is my friend. Her name is Hermione.” He stepped a bit closer. “Hermione, this is Sebastien, my godson, and a future magizoologist.”

“Oh!” Hermione said with a tight smile. It was obvious she hadn’t expected to meet a child. “Nice to meet you.” There was an awkward pause before she asked, “What is your favourite animal?”

“Limax!”

“Well, that is his favourite for this month,” Draco amended. “Hilarious story, though, since five-year-old diction is not the best. A few weeks ago he came running over to me asking, ‘Uncle Draco, what is a climax?’ And I don’t suppose I need to tell you how unprepared I was for that question.”

Hermione snickered and began to relax. Draco placed Sebastien on the floor and Hermione was immediately assaulted with a barrage of questions about various animals. She answered each with child-sized bits of information and Seb had hearts in his eyes like Newt Scamander himself had walked through the door. Draco smiled at the two of them, his heart warming a bit at the sight. He turned back toward the twins’ room and caught Scarlett peeking out the door.

“Are you going to come out?”

“NO!” she shouted.

Draco walked over to the door and asked, “Why not?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Not even if I promised you a Chocolate Frog?”

Scarlett pushed the door open and stared at the floor for a long time. Draco got down on his knees in front of her then sat back on his heels. She hesitantly looked up at him with a level of shame only a five-year-old could manage.

“I’m sorry I told on you.”

“It’s okay.” Draco opened his arms and she came running in to give him a hug. Draco kissed the top of her head. “I am sorry I yelled at you. I won’t do it again.”

“Are you gonna be happy now?”

He sighed and admitted, “I am trying very, very hard. Do you want to pick some colours?”

“YES!!”

Scarlett ran into her room and climbed on top of her desk chair to reach the inkpots. She pointed to each one in turn.

“We want a dragon!”

“With orange wings!” Sebastien shouted from the hall.

“And pink fire!” Scarlett insisted.

Draco smiled and grabbed all the colours he’d need from their collection of inkpots. He stuffed them into a small pouch and placed it in his coat pocket. Scarlett turned around and asked,

“Who’s she?”

“Hermione!” Sebastien said. “She’s a friend!”

“Like Miss Tori?”

Draco’s heart stopped for a moment.

“No!” he insisted. “No, nope, not at all like Miss Tori.”

**.oOo.**

They ate lunch at a small cafe on the south side of Diagon Alley, across from Eeylops Owl Emporium. Sebastien continued to press Hermione for information about his favourite creatures during lunch. She appeared to warm up to him quickly, while Scarlett remained a bit wary. While Hermione was distracted Scarlett whispered, 

“Is she nice?”

Draco nodded.

“Does she make you smile?”

“Yes, Scarlett, she does.”

“Real one?”

Draco agreed, “A real one.”

“Good.”

In less than a week, the twins had gone from “Draco is dying” to “Draco smiles now.” He picked at his croissant and ate most of it, along with some bacon. He didn’t feel heavy. It was a different sort of full, one without the shame. 

Scarlett and Sebastien ran across the street to play with the owls, leaving Draco alone with Hermione. He pulled the parchment and inkpots from his pouch and began to sketch today’s requested drawing. Hermione did not even look at what Draco had eaten, just followed the twins’ journey across the cobblestones. She absentmindedly tapped her fork against the edge of her plate.

“Padma asked when I plan to try again.”

“To try what again?”

“Dating.”

“Oh.”

Hermione speared a grape with the tines.

“She said I have to admit I am afraid. Afraid of what? I don’t know.”

“Perhaps you are frightened someone will take advantage of you,” Draco guessed. “Your fame, your name, your power ...”

“Maybe.”

“That is what terrifies me.”

Hermione stabbed a few more pieces of fruit.

“Did Astoria Greengrass take advantage of you?”

Draco considered it for a moment before he answered, “No.”

“Well, I think I figured it out. I think I am terrified of embarrassing myself. I was with Ron for so long and never tried to have much of a relationship with anyone else. What if I try to start again and muck it up?”

“Merlin forbid Hermione Granger fail at anything,” Draco quipped.

“I’m serious! Padma insists that trying again will make everything else easier, like this is what is holding me back everywhere else. Why everyone thinks I am so bloody tense.”

Draco pointed out, “You’ve always been tense.”

“There you go, cheering up the moment again.”

“It’s a gift.”

“But ...” Hermione paused and stared down at her lap. “Is she right?”

“Is she right about what?”

“That I need to try—”

“Try what, sex? Dates? An established relationship? Trying to force yourself into things always ends up biting you in the arse. I can say from experience, being with someone you are not sure about only leads to more doubt and then you fall apart.”

“That’s fair,” Hermione conceded. “It’s why I asked; you have so many interesting relationships.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well you seem really close to these kids.”

“They are my godchildren. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You take it very seriously, is all,” Hermione replied. “Do they reciprocate?”

“They’re five.”

“Tracey and Theo,” Hermione huffed. “They get a free nanny and what do you get? Has it ever occurred to you that they might be taking advantage of your willingness to help?”

Draco focused intently on his drawing, colouring the orange underside of the dragon’s wings.

“Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t think it’s anything,” Hermione offered, “but I know what it looks like.”

“The twins did not know me before the trial. To them I am the fun godfather who gives them sweets and draws them pictures. In their eyes I am someone good, untainted by what everyone else sees. That is worth more to me than anything. I get far more from this arrangement than Trace and Theo ever will. I love Scarlett and Sebastien more than anyone on this planet, Hermione. More than my parents, more than Blaise, more than Theo ... I would douse the Ministry in Fiendfyre if that’s what it took to keep them safe. I have hated myself for so long, and seeing myself through their eyes is the only reminder that I don’t have to.”

“Is it fair to put all that pressure on them?”

“How do you mean?”

“You have to learn to love yourself. The rest of the world isn’t going to do it for you; these kids can’t keep doing it for you.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Draco asked. “Couldn’t hear you over your Order of Merlin First Class.”

Hermione laughed.

“Yeah, war hero. You’d be surprised, it scares away more people than it attracts and I keep getting involved with the wrong sort.”

Draco put away his quill and asked, “Am I the wrong sort?”

“Surprisingly, no, I don’t think you are.”

Draco cast the spell to make the dragon move, then held up the drawing for Hermione to see. The dragon breathed out pink flames and stretched out its orange wings, just as the twins requested.

“You’re quite talented,” Hermione said.

“Thanks.” Draco was definitely not blushing. “Years of practice.”

Hermione smiled at him as she stood up from the bench. A genuine smile and oh, bloody hell, he was in trouble. His heart beat a bit faster and he busied himself adjusting things in the pockets of his coat.

“Well, I’m off.” Hermione stood there awkwardly for a moment, bounced from foot to foot before asking, “Do we hug?”

“Sorry?”

“If we’re friends, are we the hugging sort or the wave and Disapparate sort?”

Draco shrugged. He hugged Theo, Tracey, and Blaise. (And even Dean.) He hugged his parents and Pans and Bastien. Hermione didn’t feel like they did, though. It was too new and too much like he wanted something else. 

He tried to be nonchalant as he said, “If you want.”

“If _you_ want,” Hermione countered.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He stood up and pulled Hermione into a tight hug and she pressed her forehead into his chest. She held herself so well that Draco always seemed to forget she was so short. She returned the hug, letting her arms rest along the top of Draco’s hips. He said, “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“It’s what friends do.”

“It’s what _good_ friends do.”

“Both of us will make it through this, you know,” she insisted, tightening her hold just a bit. “There’s a lot about you to like, Malfoy, and I want you to believe that as much as I do. I’m still figuring out what it is, but this is ... Nice. Being your friend is nice.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Draco teased. “See you Saturday?”

“Of course.”

Hermione smiled as she pulled away and Draco gave her a small wave before she Disapparated. He nodded to himself, realizing he was well and truly fucked. When he said goodbye to the twins later that evening, Scarlett asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Draco frowned.

“Who?”

“Hermione,” Sebastien answered. 

“Oh.”

Tracey smiled and demanded, “Answer the question, Draco.”

“She is just a friend. We are friends who spend time together, and I’m taking her to meet my other friends. That is all.”

Sebastien asked, “Will she come back?”

“I dunno, Seb. I hope so.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione was on the bottom step of Blaise’s house when Draco arrived on Saturday.

“Always waiting for me aren’t you, Granger?” he asked, offering his hand.

Hermione took it and helped herself up. 

“Maybe one day you’ll be waiting for me.”

“Perhaps,” Draco agreed. He hopped up the steps and opened the front door without so much as a knock. He shouted, “BLAISE?!”

“In here!”

Of course he was in the kitchen. Draco nodded for Hermione to come inside and waved his hand so the door shut behind them. The moment Draco stepped into the kitchen, Blaise ran at him full-tilt and grabbed him in a hug so tight that his ribs threatened to crack.

“OI!” he croaked out. “Nice to see you, too.”

“You are the best friend in the entire world, Draco Malfoy!”

Draco bent over once Blaise finally released him, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Hermione took a seat at the island and laughed.

“Who pulled the stick out of your arse?”

Draco took another look at Blaise and grinned. 

“I think someone finally let him back up theirs.”

“You are just jealous because you haven’t shagged anyone in six months.” Blaise shot back, ignoring the red tint that began to creep up Draco’s neck. “Dean and I spoke about marriage, and we talked about why it feels so terrifying. We had different fears, but we want the same thing and I will ask him to marry me.”

“When?”

“Soon. I have not figured out how to do it.” Blaise turned toward the island and all thoughts of marriage were pushed aside. “Last weekend I promised you fruit, so we are making gelo d’anguria! It is watermelon pudding from Palermo, and I promise Draco will love it.”

The island countertop was filled with watermelon goo, cornflour, sugar, and a few other things Draco never realized could go into a pudding.

“Are you sure?” His nose crinkled as he surveyed the ingredients. “It looks like a lot of sweets.”

“I know what you like and I already pureed the watermelon. Granger, you are on pan duty today. Measure the cornflour and sugar by the recipe and toss it into the saucepan. Medium heat, then slowly stir in the puree.”

“On it!”

It was surprisingly easy to prepare. Blaise made his own whipped cream and Hermione stole the spatula to lick remnants from the end. Draco sprinkled the chocolate chips on top of each pudding glass, of which he ate not one, but two! He felt Granger’s eyes on him as he licked the last of the pudding from his spoon.

“Another successful day?”

Draco confirmed, “Another successful day.”

“Will Granger be a regular guest at our cooking lessons?”

She shrugged and grumbled, “Who are you asking?”

“This is Draco’s day, so he decides.”

“She can join whenever she likes,” Draco insisted. “Unless Thursdays and Saturdays are too much of your time.”

“Of course not!”

Blaise asked, “Wait, what are Thursdays?”

“We do lunch on Thursdays.” Hermione tossed the spatula into a mixing bowl. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

Hermione took a deep breath before asking, “How did you manage to find the right person?”

“Honestly?” Blaise admitted, “I stopped looking. I realized I had to learn to love myself, then the love of my life sort of found me. Dean became part of my life and sometime later I realized I never wanted him to leave. I learned that while I want to wake up next to Dean every day for the rest of my life, no one is going to love me enough to get me out of bed every morning. You have to love yourself enough to be worthy of finding whomever is out there.”

Draco chuckled.

“Are you and Penelope coordinating lesson plans?”


	13. You Look Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco was fine eating food, but gaining weight was another matter.

Draco’s life after the war fell into a consistent pattern.

His eating disorder changed his daily routine, but things evened out. Therapy on Thursday. Cook with Blaise (and Hermione) on Saturday. Nanny the twins on Monday. Mental breakdown on Tuesday and he would spend the entirety of Wednesday convincing himself to make it to Thursday.

Then do it over again.

Conversations with Penelope petered into banalities. There were no more breakthroughs, no moving forward. Every week was the same discussion with different words.

“How was your week?”

Fine.

“How was your week?”

Decent.

“How was your week?”

Normal, I suppose.

Then, on April 10th, Draco’s trousers wouldn’t button.

Odd.

He shuffled out of them, kicked them away, and tugged another pair off their hanger. He pulled them on but the button wouldn’t close. Pair after pair, all of them just a bit too snug. Draco shrugged off his robe and looked at himself in the full-length mirror.

What he saw couldn’t be real. He looked fluffier. Draco turned to the left, then to the right. He did not look fat, but he looked different. Certainly not a good different. His thoughts immediately went to first-year Longbottom, but Neville had since grown up and filled out a bit. Was Draco heading in the opposite direction? Was this retribution for all the shit he gave Longbottom in school?

Draco sat on the floor of his closet with at least two dozen pairs of trousers crumpled in piles around him. His body was going to change, he knew it would, but why like this? Draco felt heavier and was keenly aware of every part of his body that somehow seemed wider. He wanted to vomit and regain control over this. He pulled one pair of jeans off a pile and began stretching out the cuff.

He had to make a decision. Draco could go back to skipping meals and feel better. He could feel normal again, but at what cost? He would lose his friends. He would disappoint his parents, lose his godchildren, and eventually lose his life. But he thought about something Romilda told him weeks earlier.

“Even just wanting to change can bring about good results.”

Draco wanted to change. He needed his friends to look at him differently. He desperately needed Scarlett and Sebastien to see him happy. He threw the trousers onto the floor and placed his head in his hands. The decision was made, but Draco wasn’t happy about it.

Later that morning, he snuck into his father’s closet and stole a pair of trousers. If Penelope was to be believed, Draco had done all this to avoid looking like his father and yet there he was, stealing his father’s clothes. 

That determination lasted all of a day. Draco couldn’t eat anything on Wednesday without thinking it would turn him into a balloon. He drank water, ran around the Marjoribanks Gardens twice, then came back to the manor for more water. Before he put on his pyjamas that evening, Draco surveyed himself again in the full-length mirror.

Nothing.

No change.

None at all.

Part of Draco knew it was wrong. What he saw in the mirror was not what was there. He saw what he felt, and he felt heavy. All the pressure to be a good godfather, to be a proper businessman, and the pressure to revive his reputation no longer had anywhere to go. It wasn’t being pushed aside or chucked back into the toilet bowl, so Draco had to deal with it.

And he very much did not want to deal with it. 

“How was your week?”

He answered Penelope with another question, “Does it go away?”

Penelope frowned as Draco took his seat.

“Does what go away?”

“Am I always going to hate myself?”

“No, why would—”

“We have been doing this for seven weeks and you said, you told me that I am worthy of friendship and happiness. Why don’t I feel that?!”

“I also said this process takes time.”

Draco continued as though he hadn’t heard her.

“Seven weeks and I keep finding different reasons to hate myself. Isn’t it your job to make me hate myself less? Is that not what I am paying you a very large amount of money to do?!”

“No,” Penelope said, her voice frustratingly gentle, “it’s not.”

“Then why the hell am I here?”

“You are here because you want to get better.”

“Then why the hell am I not getting better?!” Draco shouted.

Penelope did not even flinch. She put down her quill and said,

“Because you live for other people and for their approval. You, Draco, have to learn to look at yourself in the mirror and believe it is okay to be who you are. I cannot make you do that no matter how many Galleons you throw at me.”

Draco asked again, with less animus, “Why am I here?”

“You need someone to help modulate your behaviour. You need someone to hold you accountable without judging you. I will not cast judgement about your life now, or when you were a teenager. We all make poor choices and no one should ever ask a child to make life or death decisions in a war. Shout at me all you wish, this is your time. If you believe yelling at me will make you feel better, will solve any of your problems, I think you should reconsider that notion. Perhaps try telling me what set you off this week?”

Draco hated that she could be so calm and understanding while he was having a fit of rage. Yelling at her only made him feel worse. He took a deep breath before admitting what he guessed Penelope already knew.

“My clothes do not fit anymore.”

She nodded and jotted something down on her parchment.

“Is this normal?” Draco asked. “Will I keep gaining weight until I can’t run anymore? Until I cannot see my toes? How far does this go?”

Penelope placed her quill down and pushed her parchment aside. Draco sat back; she’d never done that before. He shrank into himself and tugged anxiously at the end of one sleeve.

“You have been at war with your body for ten years and now you must allow it to heal. Make peace with it, because your body is storing fat in case you starve yourself again. That is all your body knows to expect from you, and it will take awhile to adjust. Right now it doesn’t trust you.”

“How long will it take?”

“Far longer than you will be comfortable with.”

Draco twirled his thumbs around each other and admitted, “I think I am doing this wrong. All of these appointments are the same. None of it feels any different than it felt four weeks ago, and I know that is my fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why is that? What am I doing wrong?”

Penelope shrugged.

“You take from these sessions what you put into them. There is a lot of pain you refuse to confront and it will continue to eat at you until you give it a voice.”

“How many different ways are you going to try to get me to speak about Astoria?”

Penelope smiled softly and said, “I never said anything about her, but find it quite telling that you did.”

Draco huffed. Penelope knew the proper buttons to press and when to back away, had it down to an art.

“I don’t want to speak about it.”

“You don’t want to speak about her, or you don’t want to speak about your time with her?”

Draco frowned.

“She is a lovely person. We were together nearly a year and there was never a moment I believed she was a bad person.”

“Was she the problem, then? Or were you?”

“Allow me to make one thing very clear,” Draco snapped. “I have my issues. I have always been a person who is very difficult to love and I know that. The life I have led is not conducive to long-term relationships but Astoria wanted to try. She saw potential for a life together and I believed her. I trusted her! There were small problems in our relationship that were my fault, but every single goddamn fight began with her. I spent our relationship miserable because she is exactly the sort of person anyone would find easy to love, and I couldn’t get there.”

“You didn’t love her, and somehow that is her fault?” Penelope asked.

“Yes!” Draco shouted back. “Yes, it is, because she never loved me. Astoria never even got to know me, she was obsessed with the sort of man she thought I could become.”

“Just another person in your life who wanted you to be someone other than who you are.”

“Exactly.”

“Did she know about your condition?”

Draco nodded.

“What did she say about it?”

Memories of that conversation flooded back, and Draco felt as though he’d been hit by a train. All her words came flooding back, a torrent of vitriol that had crushed him beyond repair. He had a white-knuckle grip on the arms of the chair, and every muscle in his body was pulled taut, ready to bolt.

“Draco?” Penelope’s voice was filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

He nodded as he came back to himself, pushing Astoria’s words to the back of his mind.

“That was a good first step,” she said. Penelope kept marking things down on her parchment.

“First step?” Draco croaked out. “Seven weeks in and I’m still on step one?”

“Every relationship in your life has its own process, and you have made an extraordinary amount of progress in quite a few of them. Your friendship with Blaise is stronger than it has ever been, wouldn’t you say?”

Draco shrugged.

“I suppose.”

“Your friend, Theo, has admitted long-held concern for you and said there will always be a place for you in his life and in the lives of his children. Anorexia will not take that from you.”

Draco nodded.

“Even your parents changed how they relate to you. Your mother admitted her faults in how she raised you during the war. Your father is the one who found my services, which are held in very strict confidence. They are trying to be what you have always needed them to be.”

“A bit late for that.”

“But is it too late?” 

Several seconds passed in silence before Draco realized Penelope expected an answer. 

“I am not sure whether they can make up for everything that happened to me.”

“But it’s a start, Draco,” Penelope insisted. “It is a start. And a hell of a lot more than most clients get through in two months. Also, look at the new relationships you have formed. You are closer to Dean Thomas, from what I understand. You reached out to Gabriel Truman and Romilda Vane. Your progress in recovery has come from your willingness to allow the people in your life to help you.”

“Is it ...” Draco bit down on his bottom lip and reconsidered whether to ask his question. But if he couldn’t even trust Penelope with this, what was the point? “When you find someone to help you through this process, is it normal to have more intense feelings for them?”

“I would like you to elaborate.”

Draco ran a hand over his face and groaned.

“I made a friend through this. Through ‘recovery,’ as you call it. I think I may, um, have feelings for her which are a bit more than I asked for.”

“Mhmm.”

“But it is only because of this, right?” Draco asked. “I only like her because she agreed to help me through this. She is the first person to pay attention without me needing to beg for it and that is why I like her. Nothing more than that. She is just a friend.”

“Mhmm.”

Draco rolled his eyes. They managed to find their way back to the usual conversation. No breakthroughs. Draco was not ready for another revelation about himself or his condition. In fact, the longer he spoke, the more he convinced himself this was a mistake. He should never have begun therapy, would rather lose his hair than speak about his time with Astoria. He would rather die than honestly confront his parents about the irreparable damage they had done.

Penelope’s smile was tight at the corners when she bid him goodbye. Draco wondered whether they were finished with breakthroughs. He could tell she wanted him to push further into whatever pain he had buried so long ago. But Draco knew himself well enough to know reopening old wounds could kill him. He grumbled a parting response then flung himself out her office door.

He breezed by Lila van Ravensway without a glance. Draco needed to go home and fall face-first onto his bed. Outside, he was surprised to see Hermione waiting at the foot of the stairs. She smiled up at him and Draco did not need that, not right then.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Your sessions ended last week.”

“Nice to see you, too. We do lunch, remember?”

Draco skipped the last step and landed with a thud next to Hermione.

“Not much of an answer.”

Hermione surveyed him up and down before saying, “You look good.”

“Why would you say that?” 

Did she know his trousers were tight? Could she see he was one popped button away from erasing all the progress he had made? He surveyed her; she looked different today. She wore nicer robes and had her hair somewhat tamed into a half-up style that framed her face nicely. But he’d just spent an hour speaking to Penelope about not understanding his relationships and here she was, standing outside the office as the prime example.

“We are friends,” Hermione said, “and friends support each other.”

“I do not remember asking you to be here.”

“You never had to.”

“Then you just go around saying things like, ‘You look good.’ What the hell does that mean to someone like me?”

“It means you don’t look like an Inferius anymore. It means you smile now. It means exactly what I said, Malfoy, that you look good.”

Draco should have taken the compliment. He should have nodded, taken her to lunch, and had a nice time. In the moment, he did not feel he deserved that. He was unworthy of Hermione’s company.

“Everyone says I smile more now but I don’t believe you. I laughed all the time. I smiled my way through Theo’s wedding and every moment I spent with the twins—”

“Then why did they say you looked sad?” Hermione challenged. “Why did everyone in your life believe you were happy wallowing in your own misery?!”

“Because people see what they wish to see in me!” Draco shouted back. “I was fine!”

“If you were fine you wouldn’t be here!” Hermione looked around then pulled Draco into a small nook beside the building. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Draco, I know this is difficult. Some sessions linger for weeks and perhaps this was one of them, but you do not get to take it out on me.”

“Again, I did not ask you to be here.”

“Why are you so difficult?!” Hermione whisper-shouted as red sparks flew from her fingertips.

Draco stepped around her and made for the street.

“You sound like my mother.”

“I am not sure which of us would be more offended by that.”

“I will leave that for you to figure out.”

“This is what you do when life gets difficult, isn’t it? You leave, resign yourself to fate until someone else steps in to save you because you don’t think enough of yourself to do it on your own.”

Draco shouted back, “I don’t need you to be a hero, Hermione! I never asked you to save me.”

“I’m not being a hero, I am trying to be your friend!”

“Congratulations then, you finally failed at something.”

He Disapparated before she could respond.

**.oOo.**

Hermione wasn’t waiting on Blaise’s porch when Draco arrived on Saturday.

The worst part was that he didn’t mean a word he said to her. Not a single goddamn one. But looking at her was a perpetual reminder of what he could never have, and the sort of person he could never be. 

As was their custom when Draco was feeling down, Blaise took him shopping. As he piled Blaise’s arms high with trousers, robes, and button-downs, he wondered how many times he would do this. Would every other week require a new wardrobe? When would it end? 

“Are you going to make me ask about it?”

Draco feigned ignorance as he “accidentally” threw a shirt on top of Blaise’s head.

“Make you ask about what?”

Blaise shook the fabric from his head and asked, “Where is Hermione?”

“Dunno. Suppose I should try these on, yeah?”

“Do not avoid the question,” Blaise insisted. He followed Draco to the changing room and began hanging the potential purchases along the wall. “These past few weeks I thought you two got on quite well.”

“Too well.”

“Do you ... Do you want to talk about it?” There was a hesitance in Blaise’s voice that Draco didn’t understand. “Or is this a matter for Theo?”

“Probably best put to him, actually, but ... He doesn’t know about Hermione. I mean, he does, but he doesn’t know that she ... that we are ... were ...” Draco tossed his hands in the air. “I dunno what the hell we are to each other and whatever we were I smashed it into a thousand pieces on Thursday.”

“What did you say?”

Draco shooed Blaise out of the room as he took off his clothes. He answered through the door.

“I called her a failure of a friend.”

“Oh, is that all?” Blaise scoffed. “You have no idea how difficult it is to be your friend.”

“Maybe I should have gone to Theo,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be a dick.”

Draco opened the door and presented himself for appraisal. Blaise was brutally honest in his assessment of people, wardrobe included. Draco wondered how he had kept his suspicions about the disease to himself for so long but their Saturdays together were no longer fraught with tension. Perhaps Penelope was right and recovery had brought him closer to the important people in his life.

Closer to everyone except Hermione.

“No.” Blaise shook his head. “That shirt is awful on you; grab the green one there.”

“You know,” Draco said as his fingers undid the buttons, “I may not be the easiest friend to make, but I think I am a good friend when it matters.”

“You are a loyal friend,” Blaise conceded, “but that does not make you a good one.”

“What is more important than loyalty?”

“Honesty, for one.”

“How long do you plan to hold this over my head?” Draco asked as he shrugged off the shirt and replaced it on the hanger. He turned to face Blaise, who was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. “What?”

Blaise walked toward him, pulled the undershirt out of Draco’s trousers, and bunched it up beneath his armpits. Draco was used to the delicate touch of Blaise’s fingers against his skin, the pad of Blaise’s thumb skimming along his ribcage. Draco glared up at the ceiling as Blaise assessed him.

“I can already tell the difference. You were so fragile, and it always hurt when I pressed down right here,” Blaise pushed his thumb into the dip of Draco’s hip. “But there is more of you now.”

“I know,” Draco replied through gritted teeth. “But I think Dean might have a few opinions about you putting your hands on me.”

“I think Dean might have a few opinions about what you said to Hermione.” 

Blaise pulled the undershirt down and Draco hurriedly tucked it back into his trousers. He turned to grab the green shirt Blaise suggested and still couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.

“She is a better friend than you deserve.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you so determined to break up whatever was happening between you?”

“Because she is trying to save me from myself,” Draco admitted. “Astoria was just the same. She wanted me to be someone I can never be.”

“Hermione is not Astoria Greengrass.”

“I know. Astoria’s much taller and Hermione’s hair should come with a warning label. If you hug her, you will walk away with a handful of it on your clothes.”

“If that is what you see in Hermione Granger, then I think she deserves better.”

“I know she does.”

“That is it!” Blaise shouted. “You always do this. You sabotage yourself and we, your friends, always pay a price. We care about you because you are our friend but you hate yourself so much that you will push all of us away, given the chance.”

“Blaise, I—” Draco cut himself off and shook his head. “Every time I think about getting better I hear Astoria’s voice in my head. I know Hermione’s friendship is too good and I cannot trust it. I don’t deserve it, I don’t—”

“Come here.” Blaise pulled Draco into a tight hug. Draco twined his fingers into the back of Blaise’s shirt. “What did she say to you?”

Draco shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it. She was right. What else is there to say?”

“We’ve stayed.” Blaise tightened his hold. “I know you thought this illness would push you away from us or that we would be ashamed of you, and it is just the opposite. We may not understand, but we _are_ proud of you. I know Hermione is proud of you, too, even if you were a dick.”

With a heavy sigh, Draco admitted, “I was a massive cock about it.”

“You will fix it. And Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“You do look good.”

**.oOo.**

Draco arrived back at Malfoy Manor with three shopping bags in his hands. A few of the trousers were sent to Pansy for tailoring, but there would be no more raiding his father’s closet. 

“My son, you are later than usual!” 

Draco smiled at his mother and greeted her with a hug.

“Yes, I needed some time with Blaise.”

“That is good. Speaking of your friends—”

“Hi, Draco.”

That was a voice he would have preferred never to hear again. He felt the blood drain from his face as he pulled away from his mother and looked at the familiar figure leaning against the entryway. Astoria looked exactly the same; bright green eyes, a kind smile, wearing a purple robe cut just low enough to tempt him into looking. If Draco was honest with himself, his love for certain parts of Astoria hadn’t ebbed. He was still desperate to be loved by her. He spent five months trying to bury the awful things she said, yet she still made his heart race. Hell, it was about to leap right out of his chest and into her hands. He managed a weak,

“Hi.”

She smiled and said, “I am so happy your mum invited me over. You look good.”


	14. Almost Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date with Astoria goes terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Emotional Abuse

Draco closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the counter with both hands.

He had a date with his ex-girlfriend and it could only end badly. Even if this one date went well and they rebuilt their relationship, it would be exactly the same and lead to another inevitable explosion. But when Astoria asked him out, it was an offering to get back something from before he began this journey toward recovery. Yesterday, he had nothing. At that moment, on that day, at least Draco had the promise of Astoria.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. He smiled thinking about how nice it would be to have Astoria see the progress he had made. Then Draco recognized something in his reflection he would swear hadn’t been there before. There was something off about his smile, like it didn’t quite reach his eyes. A smile that said, “I am trying so hard to be happy but I don’t even remember what that feels like.”

Regardless, Draco was determined to go through with it. He would show Astoria he was getting better and didn't need her to do it. He plucked a nonexistent speck of lint off his cuff and wondered whether his robe was too casual. Astoria hadn’t specified what they were doing, only to meet her on a busy street in Ravenswood. Not far from her house actually, but it was not that sort of date, was it? He was strong enough not to fall back into that trap ...

Right?

He Apparated to the address before he could give it further consideration. It was seven o’clock and the street was bustling with nightlife, but Astoria stood out even amongst the crowd. She smiled at Draco and the dress she was wearing slingshot him all the way back to the beginning. It skimmed the floor and had long sleeves, but the neckline left very, very little to the imagination. Draco didn’t need to imagine. All at once he remembered the feeling of her tits pressed against his chest, the tiny sound she made when he grabbed her arse, and the sound of his name on her lips when she came.

He was well and truly fucked. She’d worn that same dress on their third date, after which they had penetrative sex for the first time. (And the second.) Draco should have turned around and walked away. He should have Disapparated the moment he realized it was _that sort of date._ Astoria hugged him and it was nice to have her back in his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to leave. She said,

“Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah.”

She stepped away and said, “I missed you.”

“So where are we going?”

“You won’t say you missed me, too?”

Draco replied, “As I recall, we promised never to lie to each other.”

“Nearly a year together and you didn’t miss me once I was gone? A lesser woman would be offended.” 

“Let’s not pretend your pride would be so easily wounded.”

Astoria laughed and took his hand in hers.

“Now there is the man I loved. Come on, this way.”

The man she loved. A lie Draco desperately wanted to believe as Astoria led him up some stairs and into an art gallery. The show was more crowded than he would have imagined.

“Lovegood only does one show each year, and I remembered you like her work,” Astoria said. She looped her arm around Draco’s and paid for the tickets. 

He didn’t say much as they browsed the first few paintings. Luna Lovegood was more than a little mad, but also an undeniable talent. Most art in the Wizarding world took a dark turn after the war ended, but her work continued to uplift people. Her use of bright colours and the dreamlike movements of her subjects made Draco more optimistic. Wasn’t that the point of art?

“Narcissa said you are getting better, but she did not say how. Are you taking a potion?”

Draco couldn’t hold in his laughter as he recalled his first appointment with Penelope. He asked the same thing and all those weeks later it seemed rather silly.

“What?” Astoria asked with a shy smile. Draco got lost in her eyes for a moment when she said, “I want to know.”

Draco admitted, “I have a therapist.”

“ _You_ , Draco Malfoy, have a therapist?” she asked skeptically.

He nodded.

“I do.”

Draco studied the painting in front of them. A merman sat atop the bluffs, staring out at a bright blue sea with a wide grin. A creature anxious to get back where he belonged.

“You like this one.”

Draco nodded before saying, “We should move on.”

“Right, so tell me about therapy. Is it horrible? What did they say is wrong with you? What do you need to do to get well?”

Draco sighed, he hadn’t been prepared for an inquisition.

“I am awful at it.”

“You mean your therapist is awful?”

“No, _I_ am. Recovery is all in my head and I haven’t allowed anyone inside in ages.”

“Now that I know to be true,” Astoria quipped. 

Was she ... bitter? Where the hell did she get off being upset about anything? They kept walking around the exhibit, mostly in silence. Draco enjoyed almost all of Luna’s work, even purchased a painting of an owl carrying a Hogwarts letter.

“Aren’t you curious what I’ve been doing while we were apart?”

 _We are apart_ , Draco didn’t say. Instead he settled for,

“No.”

“Why are you so careless with me now?” asked Astoria. “You weren’t like this, not even at the end.”

“Oh, _I_ am careless?” Draco shot back. “Do you remember what you said before you left?”

“I told you the truth! And if I hadn’t, do you truly believe you would be here now? You needed someone to see what was happening, what you were doing to yourself and tell you to stop. I did that. I did what you needed me to do.”

“No, you hurt me. What did you think that would accomplish? It made you the same as my parents and everyone else who neglected me. I am not doing this because of you, I am in therapy because Sebastien and Scarlett deserve to have a godfather who will always be here for them. I am doing it so my friends will look at me like I am a complete person and not someone they need to be ashamed of. But I am not doing any of this because of you.”

“What am I, then?” Astoria asked, fuming. “Why are you here?”

Draco shrugged.

“I always wanted to love you. Perhaps I thought we could get there, but—”

“Walk me home?”

Draco grimaced.

“I shouldn’t.”

“You don’t have to come in,” she insisted. “Just walk with me.”

What harm could it do? Astoria’s house was less than ten minutes away. They left together, keeping a hand’s width of distance between them. Draco was content to listen to the pat-pat of their shoes against the cobblestones, but Astoria had other plans.

“I am sorry I hurt you.”

“Well, it’s been done,” Draco replied.

“Theo says you’ve been distant lately.”

“Theo and I are working through some things, but he hurt me far less than you did. Who else did you tell?”

“Pansy, Bastien, and Daphne.”

Draco came to a dead stop at the foot of her stairs.

“You mean to tell me they have known all this time?!”

Astoria shrugged and tugged him up the steps.

“I thought if we all came together we could get you to stop. They said it wasn’t my place. Pansy slapped me, for Merlin’s sake! All I wanted was for you to get better so our life together could move on. We were stuck and all your friends could say was that you had to deal with this on your own.” She waved her hand and the front door opened. “But you weren’t alone; you had me.”

“But you never loved who I was,” Draco said, “you only loved the man you believed you could make me into.”

“Well I quite like the man standing in front of me.”

Draco’s heart jumped. He glanced inside to see her entryway was exactly the same. Was Astoria telling the truth? Could she finally love him as he was?

“You do?”

“I _really_ like him.”

Astoria pulled Draco into a kiss and he was gone, falling back into the comfort of this routine. It was all so goddamn familiar; stumbling inside with Astoria in his arms. Pushing the door closed behind her and pressing her against it. They’d done this a dozen times. Draco had one hand in Astoria’s hair as she cupped him overtop his robe. Draco let out an undignified, needy groan. Astoria smiled against his lips.

“Been awhile?”

He nodded, admitting, “There hasn’t been anyone since.”

Astoria said, “Guess we’ll hurry then,” as she made quick work of the buttons on his robe.

Draco shrugged it off and pulled the undershirt over his head. It fell to the floor and Astoria wrapped her arms around his waist as he cupped her face in his hands. He admitted,

“I have missed this.”

“Then you’ll remember I’m not patient.”

Draco pressed a quick kiss to her lips then began trailing kisses along the side of her throat. Her fingers danced along the sides of his ribcage and it felt different. He was uncomfortable beneath her touch but assumed it would fade away. After all, it had been six months and he was more than ready to have Astoria underneath him.

He pulled the neckline of her dress to one side, exposing her breast. She arched up into his touch and pulled him closer by his belt loops. Still, he felt different. Astoria eyed him up and down then dipped her thumb beneath the waistbands of his trousers and pants to press against the sensitive spot Blaise identified right above his hip. Draco hissed sharply through his teeth because it didn’t hurt anymore. Because, as Blaise said, there was more of him. 

“See?” Astoria smiled. “I always knew you could get better.”

She rolled her hips and Draco thought he might vomit.

“You almost feel normal now.”

Draco was going to vomit. He pushed off the door and bolted for the bathroom at the end of the hall. Astoria called after him but Draco waved his hand to shut and lock the door in a single motion. He fell to his knees and dry-heaved into the toilet. He was so nervous that he hadn’t eaten all day and there was nothing to purge. He knew it would end up like this. Astoria would always see him as a man who needed to be fixed. She banged on the door and shouted his name. Draco heaved a couple more times into the toilet, knowing nothing would come up. Where the hell had this even come from?

“Open this door, Draco Malfoy, or I swear on Merlin’s grave I will knock it down!” There was a brief pause before she kicked at the bathroom door. “You said you are getting better, but you aren’t, are you?!”

He stood up and wiped the spittle from his mouth with the side of his arm. Draco pulled the door open and barged past Astoria.

“Draco!”

He scooped his undershirt off the floor.

“Draco! What just happened?!”

“You saved me from making a massive mistake.”

“Stop it. You’re just blaming me because you don’t want to blame yourself. None of this is my fault!”

“You know what, Astoria?” He turned around to face her full-on. “One day I will find someone who will love me as I am. Someone who does not say I am ‘almost normal!’”

“So it was a poor choice of words!” she shouted back.

“No, they were honest words.”

Draco opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

“Don’t leave!” Astoria begged, her hair sticking up where Draco had run his fingers through it. “Please.”

“NO!” His words tore at his throat as he shouted at her. “You have made me feel like skrewtshit since the beginning of our time together! I hear your voice in my head every time I think something good might happen. I hear you reminding me I am not good enough and will never be good enough for any of it. Yes, I love fucking you. I love making you laugh and watching you dance to those awful songs on the radio, but I will _never_ love you.”

Astoria recoiled like she had been slapped.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes,” Draco replied, “I do.”

**.oOo.**

He had no fight left in him when he got home. His parents asked how it went and why he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Draco glared at them on his way past but said nothing. He laid down on his bed without bothering to put on pyjamas.

Draco couldn’t sleep. He watched the shadows move across his room as Astoria’s words played on repeat in his mind. The argument they had when she left the manor was on full display in his memory and he couldn’t make it stop. Sleep never came.

He glanced at the clock to see it was six-thirty. The sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, but Draco didn’t know where to go. He could not face Pansy or Bastien, not when they already knew he was sick. Blaise had done enough already and Draco was still partially estranged from Theo. Of all his friends, there was only one person he trusted to understand, and it was the very last person in the world who wanted to see him.

Draco pulled himself together enough to brush his teeth. This part of the routine was practically muscle memory. If he looked like everything in his life was properly sorted, no one would look close enough to see he was falling apart. He fixed his hair, pulled on a business robe and a pair of new trousers, then stuffed his feet into his favourite pair of shoes. “When doing something difficult, you always need a good foundation,” his father would say.

Draco Flooed to the Ministry and made his way through the throngs in the atrium as quickly as he could. Jostled back and forth like a bloody Quaffle, he didn’t have the energy to be angry about it. Hell, he barely had enough energy to walk. Once he reached the lift he jammed his thumb into the button for Level 5 then collapsed into a corner.

Everyone tended to stay well away from him, and that was fine. He wasn’t in a particularly cheerful mood. When the doors parted to reveal the Office of International Magical Cooperation, he threw himself into the hallway and walked until he found the subdivision of The Office of International Magical Law. Draco walked through the door and toward the office at the back marked **Department Head.**

He was shocked to find Romilda Vane sitting at the desk out front. Judging from her expression, she was just as surprised to see him. Hell, he looked around and everyone in the office was staring his way.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Romilda asked, trying to conceal her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Is Hermione in?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

He shook his head and said, “I just need to see her.”

“Is this a professional inquiry?”

“Romi, don’t make me beg to see my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Draco, I know. I’m just doing my job.”

The office door behind her opened and Hermione stepped out.

“Romilda, is someone already here to yell at me? Doesn’t usually start until nine, seems a bit early for— _oh_.” Her eyes lingered on Draco for a long while before she said, “I’m taking the day off.”

Romilda’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“You have five meetings scheduled!”

Hermione demanded, “Reschedule.”

“You want me to reschedule a meeting with the Supreme Mugwump?!”

“Yes, and if he gives you a fit, tell him to owl me when he destroys a Horcrux or two. I am needed elsewhere.” Hermione opened her arms and gestured for Draco to give her a hug. “Come here you shiny git.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped Hermione up into a hug so tight her toes dangled above the floor. He started grumbling apologies into her shoulder.

“I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean a word I said to you, Hermione. You are a good friend and I am the worst.”

“It really hasn’t been your week,” she conceded. Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you still eating?”

He mumbled, “I’m still trying.”

“That is good enough for me.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione’s house was rather quaint. There were more books than she realistically had room for, but she insisted they were all necessary. The two of them ended up on a sofa in her sitting room, Draco with his head in Hermione’s lap.

“Was it the twins?”

“What?” Draco asked. “No, oh, no, they are fine. I, um, my parents ...”

“Ah, say no more.”

Draco looked up into Hermione’s eyes and admitted, “I want to tell you what happened.”

“What happened when?”

He took a deep breath before saying, “I want to tell you what happened with Astoria.” He placed a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, falling backward into his memories.

“We began dating in January last year. My parents always tried to push Daphne and me together, but Astoria is one of those people everyone likes. She is kind and understanding, the sort of woman who would make a great mother, which is the only real concern my mother has. Proper grandchildren, you know?”

Hermione muttered her understanding.

“It was easy to like her; I had always liked her. She is beautiful and a great shag, but it was more than that. I wanted to be worthy of her. I thought if I could get her to love me it would prove that I could be a whole person again. Maybe I wouldn’t have to starve myself just to feel right again.”

“How did that end up?”

“Dismal,” Draco admitted. “Seeing her a few times a week was nice. It was escapism, but I still found ways to avoid eating around her. She wanted to take things a bit further in August and I agreed because I wanted her to love me. Astoria moved into the manor in early September and I had to permanently adjust my habits.”

“Oh, I see.” Hermione began absentmindedly running her fingers through Draco’s hair. “Once you had all your meals together, you couldn’t simply skip them. You had to eat, so instead you found another way to get rid of the food.”

“Yes.”

“She is the reason you began vomiting it all up.”

Draco nodded.

“Did she find out?”

“We had a massive row at the end of October.” Draco winced as the conversation came rushing back yet again. As though he hadn’t relived it enough for one day. “She said I was killing myself from the inside-out.”

“You were.”

“But that wasn’t what ended things.” Draco swallowed thickly, he’d never told anyone about this part. He felt Hermione wipe away a tear that had pooled on his cheek. “She was yelling at me that I took advantage of her by starving myself. Her exact words were, ‘I love you, Draco, but you have never loved yourself enough to believe you deserve to live. Now I am starting to believe that you don’t.”

Hermione didn’t respond except to cover Draco’s hand with her own. Tears fell freely down his cheeks and he did not bother to wipe them away. 

“She constantly tried to make me do things differently. She said I should dress more monotone like my father, the bloody paragon of heterosexuality. She was never comfortable dating someone willing to fuck both women and men. She couldn’t stand to be around Blaise because we dated.”

“She was jealous?”

“The phrasing she used was that she ‘did not like being reminded my dick had been in other places.’ You can work out the double entendre.”

Hermione did not bother trying to disguise her disgust.

“If she loved you, she would never have made you regret who you are.”

“Well we went out last night.”

Hermione replied, “Oh, no,” sensing this was about to go to shit.

“I should have said no, but I couldn’t resist showing Astoria that I was improving without her in my life. She took me back to her house and it was so nice to hold her again ...”

“I really don’t want to hear about you shagging your ex.”

“We didn’t get that far. Once she got a good look at me, she said I was ‘almost normal’ now, and I completely lost it. I had to run to the loo and try to vomit. Of course, I hadn’t eaten anything all day so nothing came of it, but I’ve gained so much weight over the past two months that all I can think about is how different my body is. She touched me and all I could think about was how different it was.”

“Perhaps your body was not the culprit this time,” Hermione offered. “Maybe it was your partner. You keep saying she is a kind person, but all I hear is that she was a rubbish girlfriend.”

“That is my point. I have been punishing myself for years, trying to become a different person. Astoria wanted to change who I was and I let her. I kept pushing myself to be who she wanted me to be. Everyone loved Astoria, and if Astoria loved me I thought everyone else would have to love me, too.”

“I don’t believe that is how life works.”

“Advice gained too late, I’m afraid.”

Draco sat up and wiped the tears from his face. Hermione wrapped one arm around his shoulders and Draco nestled into her side. Finally, for the first time in more than thirty-six hours, he began to drift out of consciousness.

“I miss her, though,” he whispered. “Miss having someone to hold. Somebody to laugh with.”

“Right now, you’ve got me.”

“‘’s right, Hermione,” he mumbled. “I’ve got you.”

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?”

“Mhmmm.” Draco lost control of what he was saying, barely able to get words from his brain to his mouth. “Feels safe with you. Trust you.”

“That is what friends do, Draco, and I would never say you don’t deserve to live. You deserve someone who will make you happy. Someone you never need to hide from.”

He smiled sleepily and said, “I never hide from you.”

Draco would swear he felt Hermione kiss him softly on the cheek just before he drifted away ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, sometimes good people are unintentionally abusive. I think that's what Draco experienced here, not out of any malice by Astoria but because she loved him and wanted to make their relationship work. Doesn't make it right.


	15. This Is What Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is the one nice thing about Draco's horrible week.

Draco blinked himself awake and did not recognize the ceiling. 

He turned his head to the side and realized he was lying on a sofa with his feet hanging slightly off the edge of one arm. He jolted upright and looked around, trying to get his bearings.

“Easy, Malfoy, you’re still in my house.”

Hermione? Why was he in Hermione Granger’s house? On her sofa? It took several seconds before Draco remembered the series of events that answered those questions.

“You’re safe.”

Draco nodded and mumbled, “Right. Right, right ... What time is it?”

“Nearly eight.”

“Shit!” Draco swung his legs onto the floor and wiped the crust from the corners of his eyes. “I did not mean to impose on you. I mean, I only—”

“Wanted a safe place to sleep,” Hermione finished. She turned the page of her book and tucked her legs up into the armchair. “I’ve been there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. I hate the Supreme Mugwump anyway and am counting the days until his retirement. Skipping that meeting was the highlight of my day.”

“I mean for all of it,” Draco insisted. He shuffled so he was sitting on the end of the sofa closest to Hermione. “Everything I said to you when we were kids. For watching Aunt Bella torture you on my floor. I apologize because I made your life so much worse than it should have been.”

She shrugged and replied, “Apology accepted.”

“You’d just accept it like that?” Draco asked, stunned. “No need to make me work for it?”

“You are a different man now. You have hurt yourself in ways I will never understand, but you never asked for pity. You never asked to be pardoned and you never blew it off like my suffering was nothing. You understood the severity of what you did, punished yourself for it, and you need a reason to stop. What sort of an arse would I be if I kept that from you?”

“You, of all people, are entitled to hate me.”

Hermione closed her book and placed it on the coffee table. She looked over at Draco and he didn’t quite understand the look on her face.

“Padma made me look at life a little differently. We looked at my past, but that didn’t get me anywhere. I know what happened to me, so we looked forward. What sort of life can I have, and what type of partner do I want to share it with? I need someone who can look at me as I am. Not a war hero or the Golden Girl, I just want to come home to somebody who sees me as Hermione Granger. And from what you told me before you passed out on my sofa, you just want someone to see you as Draco. I will not keep holding onto your past, and you don’t have to, either.”

“It is one of the things I work on with Penelope. We work through the past, but I always feel like I need to be going faster.”

“You were in a right state when you showed up in my office today. If anything, perhaps you are moving too fast. Are you hungry?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and said, “You know I am never truly hungry.”

“Okay.”

There was a full minute of awkward silence between them. Hermione had changed into a pair of trackies and a Gryffindor hoodie, with one string far longer than the other. She looked comfortable and Draco felt rather out of place. He wondered,

“You are not going to press me on it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not your mum,” Hermione quipped. “Whatever makes you want to starve yourself is not something that can be cured. It is something that needs to be _changed_.”

“How do you mean?”

“You have to stop using food the way you’re using it and I can’t do that for you. All I can do is be your friend. You want to eat something and throw it up? Loo’s down the hall on the left. I won’t yell at you for it, but I will know what you’re doing. So you have to ask yourself, would you rather be here with me or bear the shame of having me know your face is in my toilet?”

Draco blanched. Hermione nodded and returned her attention to the book in her hands.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Is this your plan, then? Manipulate me into quitting?”

“No,” Hermione countered, “I plan to be a good enough friend so you don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I don’t deserve your friendship.”

Hermione untucked her legs and leaned forward so she and Draco were nearly nose-to-nose. There was fire in her eyes when she asked,

“In all the years you have known me, have you ever once considered me stupid?”

“No.”

“Then don’t you dare try to tell me what you do and do not deserve from me. I am perfectly capable of making that determination myself.”

She said it with such conviction that Draco almost believed it. But there was a stronger voice inside his head. A louder, more consistent refrain of _No one will ever love you like this._

Draco stood up and Hermione led him to the door. 

She insisted, “You don’t have to go.”

“Afraid I do. It is late and I am surprised my parents haven’t sent out a search.”

“Perhaps they have,” Hermione said. “This is hardly the first place they would look.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You’re welcome any time.”

Draco smiled and teased, “Wouldn’t want to stumble in on you and a _visitor_.”

Hermione blushed and anxiously tucked some hair behind her ear.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“No one around to capture your fancy?”

“I never said that.”

“Ah, so there is one!” Draco suggestively raised his eyebrows. “Who is the lucky bastard?”

Hermione licked her lips and stared down at the floor. 

“It’s early, but I smile when I think about him. He doesn’t know, of course, but when I look at my future I want to make space for him in it.”

“That is as good a start as any.” Draco grinned, but his expression sobered quickly. “Promise me you won’t let him change who you are, alright?”

Hermione laughed and said, “It would be funny to see him try.”

“I’ll leave you to your evening, then.”

Draco opened the door but Hermione tugged him back by the elbow. She spread her arms wide and said,

“We hug, remember?”

Draco laughed and scooped her up in his arms. She giggled and held onto his shoulders as he tightened his arms around her waist. Draco placed her back on the ground then cupped her face with his hands. He kissed the top of her head and said,

“Thank you, Hermione. I don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness.”

“It was just a few hours on my couch.”

“You know that is not what I mean.”

“I know.” She nodded to herself and repeated, “I know.”

“I will see you Thursday?”

“Yeah!” Her voice cracked. “Yes, um, for lunch.”

Draco waved at her from the bottom of the steps before he Disapparated.

**.oOo.**

Draco’s parents cornered him in his study the following morning. They sat in the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

“We have heard some disconcerting news, my son.”

Draco did not stop shuffling the parchment on his desk when he said, “Oh?”

His mother frowned and asked, “Do you plan to tell us what happened on your date with Astoria?”

Draco shook his head.

“The thought had not occurred to me.”

“Mrs. Greengrass is quite put out about it.”

“As I am quite put out at you arranging for my ex-girlfriend to show up unannounced at our home. A place where I should feel safe and welcome, and you decide to bring in the last person I want to see. For what, a long shot at Pureblood grandchildren?”

His father revealed, “Astoria has been silent on the subject of your evening together.”

“It was not a bright moment for her.”

“Will you at least explain what happened?” his mother begged. “I truly believe she would be a good match for you.”

Draco slapped the stack of parchment down onto his desk.

“You wish to know what happened?”

They nodded.

“What do you want to hear first? The part where she revealed my most closely-guarded secret to my friends without my consent, or the part where we almost shagged in her entryway?”

His mother rolled her eyes.

“Why must you be so melodramatic?”

“Learned it from my father.”

“Most of the Pureblood women have been taken. If you fail to make a move soon, you will end up with someone like that Lovegood girl.”

Draco’s blood ran hot at their audacity. How could they demand an explanation when they brought back the one person in his life who was sure to undo all the progress he had made?

“Luna Lovegood is incredibly talented. I am waiting on a piece of hers to be delivered so I can hang it here in the manor.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Lucius groaned. “You need to take this seriously, my son, otherwise you will fail to produce a worthy heir.”

“Right.” Draco steepled his fingers on top of his parchment. “If you believe my focus should be on having a son while I am quite literally re-learning to eat food, that explains a lot about your skills as parents.”

Their jaws dropped at the same time and it was almost comical. Draco half thought his mother would lean across the desk and slap him, but she just sat there with her hand resting atop her husband’s. Draco glanced at the engagement ring on her finger and allowed himself one moment to be upset he would never find someone who wanted him like that.

“Why did you do it?” Draco asked, pulling himself away from that dark path. “Why did you bring her here?”

Narcissa answered, “Because she loved you. The two of you already had history and I thought if you could repair the damage you could pick up where you left off.”

“Do you know where we left off, mother?”

“Yes.”

“How much of our last conversation did you hear?”

“I heard enough.”

“Did you hear Astoria imply that I should kill myself?” Draco asked. “Or did that escape your notice?”

His mother covered her mouth with her hand to quiet her gasp. So she hadn’t heard that much. It hardly mattered, their priorities had always been skewed toward his potential children. His father glanced up toward the ceiling with regret in his eyes. Draco knew his father likely had no hand in this and shrugged it off.

“It is no matter; I am moving forward. She is never welcome in this house again.”

“Of course not, my son.” His mother dabbed a tear with her fingertip. “And I am sorry for trying to push you toward her again. It was selfish, but I only want the best for you.”

“The best thing you can do is allow me to figure out my life on my own. Right now I want you to leave.”

Once they were gone, Draco opened the drawer on the bottom of the left side of his desk. It was a family photo album he pilfered from the family room downstairs. There were dozens of photos of him as a toddler and as a young boy. He used to enjoy flipping through it, but at that moment the photos made Draco’s heart ache.

There was a photo of him racing Theo on broomsticks. Another of him at age eight, asleep on a chair with his arms around a tiny sleeping Blaise. There was a photo of Draco eating ice cream at Fortescue’s. Another of him smiling up at his father. 

When had it all gone wrong? How would that Draco see the man he had become? Would he be repulsed, or would he be disappointed? He was once a boy so full of life and humor, nearly all of which had been burned out of him. He placed the album back in the drawer and sighed. Didn’t he owe it to that little boy to do his best? Didn’t he owe it to that version of himself to live?

**.oOo.**

Draco walked through the door of Clearwater and Patil at ten on Thursday. He followed Penelope back to her office and waited for her to close the door behind him.

She asked, “How was your week?” as she took her seat.

Draco took his time placing all his items on the spare chair. He sat down gently and closed his eyes. It was the last moment to back out, to back away from this and continue to ignore the pain. He opened his eyes and said,

“I have not had a week test me like this in seven years.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I went on a date with Astoria.”

Penelope nodded, not even bothering to pick up her quill.

“Did you enjoy your time together?”

Draco shook his head.

“I wish I could say that I did. I wish I could say that we were normal and had a great time and a nice fuck afterward, but that is not what happened.”

“Go on.”

“Before I tell you about our date this week, I think it is only proper you understand what she did to me. How she tried and failed to love me.”

“Why do you believe she failed?”

“Because of what she said at the end. She did not even bother to retract it when I saw her on Sunday. She said it was what she needed to do, but nothing has ever hurt me as badly as what she did when she left.”

“Okay,” Penelope nodded encouragingly. “Are you ready to talk about her?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted. “You said I have to confront my pain before I get better. This is what hurts.”

**.oOo.**

Draco opened the bathroom door to reveal Astoria leaning against the opposite wall. He knew he’d been caught and, judging by the furious look in her eyes, Draco would not enjoy this conversation.

“Why?”

She hurled the word at him like a curse. Draco briefly considered shutting the door and locking himself in with the toilet. It had been a better companion than Astoria lately, anyway.

“If I knew why, then I would be able to stop.”

“Would you?”

Draco tightened his grip on the door handle. How could she think that he wouldn’t? Astoria didn’t bother waiting for a reply.

“I bet you thought you were careful, so good at hiding what you’re doing to yourself. Well I can tell you that anyone who bothered to pay attention could see it.”

“And how many people do you think that is?” Draco snapped. “You’ve been shagging me since January and it’s taken you ten months.”

“Wow.” She didn’t even sound surprised. “You want to talk about sex? Let’s speak about the sex then. It’s fantastic, and you know why? Because it’s the only time you aren’t hiding from me!”

Draco nodded.

“You’re right.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Well what do you want from me?”

Astoria shouted, “I want a reason to stay! I want you to let me help you through this, whatever the hell it is.”

“How would you do that?”

Astoria threw her hands in the air and admitted, “I don’t know. I’d give you different food or, I dunno, there must be a spell or a potion to snap you out of it!”

“I don’t need to snap out of it. I am handling it.”

“No, you’re not. You’re ill.”

Draco scoffed and said, “I am fine.”

“Merlin’s bollocks, how can you say that with a straight face?! You are killing yourself from the inside-out.”

“What does that even matter? I should’ve died a dozen times, should be in Azkaban, even.”

“So that’s what this is? You’re punishing yourself?”

Draco just stared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.

“You know, you’re punishing me, too. Do you expect me to watch as your teeth rot? As you continue to wither away right in front of me? Should I smile every time you excuse yourself from a meal and pretend I don’t know what you're doing? Draco, I love you but you are forcing me into a relationship with half a boyfriend!” 

“I have given you all that I can.”

“No, you haven’t given me your heart. Just let me in; give me your love!”

Draco bent to kiss her on the forehead and said, “I have given you all that remains.”

Astoria pushed him back and stormed off, but turned around before she made it halfway down the hall. She was never content without having the last word in their relationship.

“Maybe the reason I fell in love so fast was that there wasn’t much of you left to fall for.”

That hurt because it was true. She’d seen him as nothing more than moldable clay. Draco knew he did not have the right to walk away from this conversation. He deserved what Astoria was about to throw at him.

“Hell, Draco, you’re not even a man anymore. You’re a shell, a bloody corpse just walking about. You made me spend all this time trying to love you, hoping for a future you knew could never happen!”

“That is not true! I hoped—”

“It doesn’t matter what you hoped for! You didn’t care enough about me to get well. You didn’t tell me, made me into a fool.”

“And what, exactly, did you make me?”

“I was trying to make you my husband!”

Draco crossed his arms and stared down at the floor. He wished he could have been that for her.

“But make no mistake,” she said, “no one will ever marry you like this.”

The truth of that was a heavy weight in Draco’s stomach. One he would vomit up later. Astoria screamed at him,

“No one will ever love you like this, you selfish bastard! You can destroy yourself if you choose, but I will not stand around to watch. I loved you, Draco Malfoy, but you have never loved yourself enough to believe you deserve to live. Now I am starting to believe that you don’t.”


	16. Cakes and Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco begins to realize that opening himself up to some emotions means that he cannot keep ignoring them all.

“What are your plans moving forward?”

Draco didn’t have an answer and Penelope said that was okay. He was “doing a good job setting boundaries” and “allowing himself to feel again.” Except, opening up hadn’t felt like progress. It felt like he ripped out his heart and placed it on the desk for her to inspect. Penelope asked how Astoria’s departure made him feel.

“Relieved,” he said, “that I didn’t have to try any longer.”

“You weren’t angry?”

“No, I deserved what she said. I allowed her to try to make me into the husband she wanted, and let it go on far too long. She was honest and I cannot be angry at her for that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wasn’t honest with her, either.”

“When she told you she did not believe you deserve to live, you weren’t angry?”

“How could I be angry when I agreed with her?”

“Do you still agree?”

“No,” Draco admitted, “I don’t.”

He caught Penelope trying to hide a smile. Knowing she was proud was enough to convince Draco he had done the right thing. No matter how painful it would be going forward.

“And when she said no one would ever love you?”

Draco winced.

“That one is still fresh. I told you what I wanted at the end of this, but I still have trouble believing it is possible.”

“Let’s talk about it next time,” Penelope said. “I need to inform you I will be out of the office next week.”

“Oh.”

“You can schedule an appointment with Padma or Parvati—”

“No.” Draco dismissed the notion with a lazy flick of his hand. “I don’t trust anyone else to handle this.”

“They each have a speciality that may appeal to you,” Penelope insisted. “Padma deals primarily with what we call Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and sees clients who were heavily involved in the war. It surprised all three of us when you sought my services instead. Parvati focuses on grief and marriage counseling, and considering your history with relationships that may also help you in some way.”

“And you?” Draco asked. “Is Anorexia all you do?”

Penelope smiled softly and shook her head.

“There are several eating disorders and I work with just about all of them. People respond to trauma in different ways, Draco, but you are far from the only one to cast the blame inward.”

“How the hell did you end up doing this?”

“I decided to help people who are ashamed of what has happened to them. People who have illnesses our world does not have a name for. Every day I come into work, I help people solve their most intimate problems. My clients trust me and it is a responsibility I am grateful to have.”

“Ah.”

“That’s enough of a speech from me.” Penelope blushed. “I will see you in two weeks’ time.”

He left with one line ringing in his ears.

_ You are far from the only one. _

That was a massive weight lifted off Draco’s shoulders. He wasn’t normal, but he was not unique in this and it made all the difference. 

Lila van Ravensway stopped Draco on his way to the door.

“Mr. Malfoy!” She was giddy, grinning from ear-to-ear. Lila offered him a deep purple envelope. “This was delivered during your session! I’ve never seen one before! They must love each other pretty deeply to go through with this.”

“They do,” Draco promised, pulling out the card and nervously twisting the envelope between his fingers. He’d never seen one, either. “But I never thought ...” Draco walked away without finishing. He was still grinning like a madman when he met Hermione outside. 

“I got the strangest letter. Wait.” She asked, “You got one, too?”

Draco’s hands trembled around the envelope, his thumbs already slipped between the folds of the card.

“I know what I hope it says,” Draco admitted, “completely selfish. If it isn’t me I don’t know who it would be, but I am still terrified to read it.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked. “All mine says is:

> Dean Thomas
> 
> 6
> 
> 28th of April, 2007.”

Draco answered, “It’s a wedding invitation. A traditional Pureblood wedding invitation.”

“Oh my God! They’re getting married! We have to congratulate them!”

“No,” Draco insisted. “They are to be separated until the ceremony and both of them are probably already insufferable.”

“Seems a bit archaic,” Hermione observed. Then her grin morphed into a troubled frown. “I thought Ron and I had a traditional ceremony.”

Draco laughed.

“Not even close. This is a ceremony that dates back to the age of Merlin, one so rare that only a few ministers can even perform it. I never thought I would get to see one, much less that Blaise could convince Dean to do it.”

“Why the secrecy? What does the invitation even mean?”

“What is your number, again?”

“Six.”

“Only twenty-one people present at the ceremony. The two grooms and the officiant, then the remaining eighteen are split into two groups of nine.”

“There’s math involved?”

“Seating is important, Hermione! The closer you are to the front and centre, the more important you are to the betrothed and ...”

“And you want to be first?” she guessed. Hermione bumped their shoulders together. “That isn’t selfish, Draco, it just means you want the value of your friendship validated at one of the most important moments in Blaise’s life.”

Draco pushed the card toward her and said, “You read it first.”

Hermione snatched it from his hand and opened it. There was a single second Draco was certain she found a two inside. Then she held it up, facing Draco, to reveal a bold number one.

“I never doubted it.”

Draco placed the card in his pocket and pulled Hermione into a hug. He was grateful she would be there, someone amongst his friends that he knew wouldn’t judge him. Wouldn’t pester him with questions or hover outside the door when he used the loo. Witnessing the ceremony with her would only make it more special. 

**.oOo.**

“CONGRATULATIONS!”

Hermione pulled Blaise into a hug as soon as she stepped into his house on Saturday. Draco followed soon after and didn’t let go for at least twenty seconds, just holding onto his friend, trying to say  _ This is more of an honour than I can tell you _ without words.

Blaise mumbled, “I love you so much, you know?”

Draco nodded.

“I know.”

“Without you, Dean and I would likely still be sleeping in separate rooms.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Draco pulled away far enough to ask, “How did you convince him to do it?”

Blaise stepped away and moved toward the fridge. 

“Dean asked if there was anything special we could do, and ... I always hoped to have this sort of ceremony but I would never expect that of him, so ... I mentioned it when he asked.”

Draco followed him over to the island and slid onto a barstool.

“Why would you need something this special?”

Blaise didn’t answer. He opened the fridge, pulled out two cakes, and placed them on the island. It was Hermione who eventually answered.

“They can’t get married in the Muggle world.”

Draco frowned and asked, “Why not?”

“Because they’re men.”

“Oh.”

“You should have seen his face when he explained it to me,” Blaise said. “He has never been ashamed of us, but realizing that he would not have a traditional marriage in front of his family ... I’ve never seen him so regretful. As a compromise, I told Dean that I will bring the tradition and he can bring the family. We cleared it with the Ministry, so everyone will be in attendance.”

Hermione asked, “Doesn’t he have seven siblings?”

“Yes.”

“But Draco said there are only nine seats.”

“Yes,” Blaise explained, “his side will consist of his sisters, his mum, and you. He considered Luna, but felt that of his friends you were the one who needed to see the ceremony. The rest of them will be here for dinner.”

Hermione swiped the pad of one finger beneath her right eye.

“Yeah. Great, um, that’s ... That’s good.”

Draco tentatively placed his hand against her back and Hermione relaxed into his touch. He made circles with his thumb at the centre of her spine. When he finally pried his eyes away from Hermione, Draco saw six cakes laid out in a line on the island.

“I know sweets are your downfall,” Blaise said, “but I need taste testers and you are already here ...”

Hermione held up one hand and said, “I was born for this moment.”

She Summoned a fork from one of the drawers; Draco and Blaise followed suit. Blaise had even made little name cards for them. There were chocolate, vanilla, lemon, red velvet, double chocolate, then passionfruit with rum.

“I know this last one seems a bit risky but I promise it’s delicious.” He looked over at Draco and asked, “Can you do this?”

Draco nodded, trying to project more confidence than he felt.

“Yes, of course. It’s fine, I will be fine.”

He felt Hermione’s eyes on him. It did not take long for an idea to form.

“I propose we each eat two and pick one. Then we try all the finalists.”

Draco would only need to eat four, not six. Hermione understood what he needed without a word. She found a solution to an unspoken problem, because she was the brightest witch of the age and all that rubbish, but Draco hadn’t ever seen that power turned in his favour. He could get used to it.

“Dibs on chocolate and passionfruit with rum,” Draco said, pulling both cakes toward him.

Hermione scouted the lemon cake and double chocolate, leaving Blaise with vanilla and red velvet. Draco took a deep breath and silently gave himself permission to eat the cake. Blaise had asked for help and Draco owed this to him. For the responsibility of being first chair at his wedding, Draco could eat some goddamn cake.

The first bite of the passionfruit cake was confusing. He chewed until he tasted the rum, then Draco smiled. However, chocolate was the clear winner. They eventually decided on double chocolate because the frosting was exquisite. The whole afternoon was nice. There were moments Draco forgot he was eating at all, just absentmindedly popping pieces of passionfruit cake into his mouth. Being with Blaise, but especially alongside Hermione, he was able to do these things judgement-free.

Hermione asked, “Are you nervous?”

Blaise shrugged.

“I am worried not everyone will like the cake. Sometimes I think, what if a button comes loose on my robe or Draco and Weasley start yelling at each other over dinner? Yes, I am worried about small things. But I don’t care if the Dark Lord or Merlin himself rises from the goddamn grave, I will wake up on April 29th as Dean’s husband and that is the only thing I care about.”

Hermione Summoned a bottle of firewhisky and took a lengthy swig. She slammed it on the table and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

“I was nervous as hell before my wedding.”

Draco grabbed the bottle and placed it at the end of the countertop away from Hermione. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to talk about my marriage. I want to know about this wedding.”

“Well,” Blaise began, “there are three parts. You pledge purity, honesty, and eternity, each accompanied by its own ritual.”

“Purity?” Hermione asked. “That sounds archaic.”

“Not  _ that _ sort of purity,” Draco said, “this ritual predates blood tradition. it is about submitting your pride to your partner.”

“That is the one I am least looking forward to.” Blaise shuddered. “I know it symbolizes the work you are willing to do for your partner. That you put them before your pride, that your relationship is pure, but I don’t believe they needed to make it so undignified!”

“It is important!” Draco insisted. “Can you believe my father did it?”

“Were your parents married this way?”

Draco nodded. 

“From what I understand, they were the last couple in England to complete the ceremony. For someone like my father, the purity ritual symbolizes the inevitable. There will be a time when you must choose between your pride and the person you love. My father found it so humiliating that he does not speak of it, but he did it. To me, that represents love better than anything else the ceremony has to offer.”

“Is that so?” Hermione looked at Draco with a quizzical expression. “Then who would you swallow your pride for, Draco Malfoy?”

_ You. _

He didn’t mean to think it. Hell, Draco couldn’t even begin to guess when it happened, but something had gone terribly wrong. At that moment, he realized he had a massive crush on Hermione Granger; one he couldn’t run from any longer. 

“Well that’s not ... I mean, I don’t have anyone  _ now _ , but ... once I am better ...”

Hermione patted his thigh and said, “You’ll find them, and I don’t think you need to be better for it to happen. If someone loves you the way he loves Dean, it wouldn’t matter.”

Draco nodded and croaked out, “Yes, you are right.” He locked eyes with Hermione and his breath caught in his throat. There was a glimmer in her eyes as they darted across his face, the tension heightened between them. Draco felt like he was falling, floating weightless, suspended in time as the moment stretched out between them.

“Spain or Australia?”

Both Draco and Hermione jumped and turned to face Blaise. His smug smile read,  _ Yes, I’m still here. _

“Honeymoon destinations,” he added. “Spain or Australia? For food, I’d choose Spain, but on the other hand is a week of watching Dean lying on a beach in nothing but trunks.”

Without hesitation, Hermione said, “Australia.”

At the same moment, Draco agreed, “Definitely Australia.”

**.oOo.**

The Wednesday before Blaise’s wedding was difficult without a therapy appointment to look forward to. Draco stood silently in his mother’s study, watching two white candles flicker in a nonexistent breeze.

“Mine went out for a time.”

Draco jumped, surprised to find his mother hovering at his shoulder.

“When?”

“After your father came back from Azkaban. I blamed him for the state of our home, of our family. Only once I admitted the shared blame did I find it in myself to love him again.”

Draco frowned and gestured toward the candles.

“I will never have this.”

“Why would you say that?”

He shook his head and looked away.

“The things I did—“

Narcissa insisted, “You were a child! Those actions have been forgiven.”

“But I would have to trust someone again,” he admitted, “open myself up. I am not sure I will ever find someone I love enough to do that.”

“My son,” his mother’s voice cracked, “love can be a poison just as easily it is a remedy. The Greengrass girl, her love was true but it was tainted. If you cannot find someone who will love you the way I love your father, do not bother with marriage.”

“I have to continue the line. It is the one thing Father expects of me.”

“No, the only thing you need to do is live an honest life. One that is true to what you want. That is what caused your illness, is it not? My ignorance of your pain, my willingness to put ideology above the safety of my only son. If I had done the right thing earlier, then you would be whole.”

Draco could only nod.

“Find the person you love and do the right thing. Your father and I owe it to you to support your choice. If you ever find a person for whom you can light a candle ... Never let them go.”

“What if I find someone,” Draco pressed, “and you do not like them?”

“I would let my displeasure be known.”

“But would you accept it?”

“We owe you that much.”

“Even if she was a Muggle?”

His mother scoffed.

“If this is your way of asking about the Granger girl, there is no need for subtlety. Your father and I hear about it every time you are seen with her. One of our more unobservant friends saw you two at a park and mentioned you had lovely children.”

He blushed clear down his neck.

“Those were my godchildren.”

“I know that and you know that, but all anyone else saw was you, the Muggle-born girl, and two small children. People have begun to talk.”

“Not for any reason,” Draco replied, tapping the toe of his loafer anxiously against the floor. “She isn’t interested in me.”

“Hmm.”

“ _ Hmm _ ?”

“I have heard she looks rather comfortable around you.”

“Because we are friends. Hermione and I see each other twice a week because she knows about my illness and is willing to help me get through it.”

“Hmm.”

“For Merlin’s sake, mother!” Draco shouted. “Say what you have to say.”

“Who are the people you care about most in the world, my son?”

“Sebastien and Scarlett.”

“How many times do you see them each week?”

Draco felt the blood drain from his face.

“How many?” Narcissa repeated.

“Once.”

“But you see this Granger girl twice. Do not bother telling me this is mere friendship between you. That may work on your father, but I am not blind to this.”

“Hermione said she is interested in another man.”

“Things are too fragile between you, too new for her to say anything. As you pointed out last week, you are at the beginning of this recovery process. If she were to become your romantic partner and it ended, it would wreck you in a manner we could never fix. The Greengrass girl came close, but Granger has dealt with far more terrible things. She understands pain.” Narcissa paused for a moment before admitting, “I respect her restraint in this.”

Draco laughed.

“The idea that Hermione is interested in me ...”

“Why?” Narcissa asked. “Why is that so difficult for you to believe?”

“Because she is the most powerful person on the continent, and I am me.”

“Yes, you are Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the wealthiest estate in Wizarding Britain.”

“About all I have going for me, isn’t it?” Draco asked, bitter. “Our money.”

“If you truly believe that, my son, then you have a very long road ahead.”

“No one has given me reason to believe otherwise,” Draco insisted. “Penelope tells me every week that I deserve so much more than I am willing to give myself, but no one ever tells me  _ why _ . What have I done to deserve—“

Narcissa grabbed him by the arm and hissed, “You are  _ alive _ ! How many of your friends, your classmates do not have that good fortune?”

“Doesn’t mean I deserve better.”

“That is  _ exactly _ what it means.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every Dramione fic is just an excuse for me to give Blaise and Dean a more elaborate wedding. Hope y'all stay happy and healthy!


	17. Humility, Honesty, Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (*Billy Idol voice*)
> 
> It's a nice day for a Bean wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on April 28th, 2007.

Draco surveyed himself in the mirror one final time.

He did not look bad. Draco ran his palms down the front of his navy robe. It had an open front to reveal the silver waistcoat, which Pansy had to let out. He supposed the matching navy trousers looked alright. Draco knew he didn’t look as awful as he believed, but it looked  _ off _ . Even so, he would bet a hefty number of Galleons his friends would all say the same thing.

“You look good.”

They might not be lying. Perhaps he looked good to them, but he did not live life through their eyes. Until he believed it with his heart, saw the truth through his own eyes, their words would continue to ring hollow.

He Apparated to the park, a part of the Marjoribanks Gardens usually closed to the public. It was the perfect place for this ceremony, very open and cheerful. From his vantage point at the back, Dean’s three rows of three were on the left with Blaise’s section a mirror on the right. 

As he walked down the aisle, Draco realized he was one of the last guests to arrive. Over the years he learned it was best not to linger at these things. He made his way over to Theo and Bastien, chairs two and three respectively. The contrast between the pair of them could not have been more evident. Bastien wore pale yellow robes with silver trim, as dapper as ever and impossible to miss. Conversely, Theo wore a classic grey robe and hadn’t even styled his hair. Trimmed his beard a bit, but he looked so ...  _ relaxed _ . He clapped Draco on the shoulder and asked, 

“How are you?”

“Excited, mostly.”

“Good!” His smile seemed genuine. Perhaps it was time to forgive him and move on. “The twins are with Trace; they’ll head over to Blaise’s house soon. Scarlett’s been thinking about the cake for days.”

Draco laughed just as Bastien pulled him into a tight hug.

“Come here, you git. I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You didn’t make it difficult.”

Bastien admitted, “I know, just ... I didn’t really know what to do.”

“I understand.” 

Draco felt the truth of those words. If he wasn’t like this and Bastien was in his shoes, Draco wouldn’t know what to do. How do you help someone who doesn’t believe they need help? Who wouldn’t even accept it if you tried. 

“You look incredible.”

“I heard Padma is coming to the reception,” Bastien admitted. “Had to go for it.”

“Speaking of women who will never have sex with you, I need to see Gabrielle.”

As he walked away Bastien told him, “Try to keep it in your pants.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Draco shouted over his shoulder with a smile. 

Gabrielle Delacour had her hair up in a braided crown and was, if possible, even more beautiful than the last time Draco had seen her. She looked like her older sister, only shorter and more delicate. Her dress was a pale shade of pink that made her look more like a fairy than a Veela. He saw Gabby every few months or so, always managing to get together when he traveled to France. Draco never walked into a room with Gabrielle in it and walked out feeling worse about himself. She was probably the only person in the world for whom that was true. They only had six dates before Draco realized his life was on a path she did not deserve to walk.

Gabrielle smiled as he approached. 

“Draco!”

“ Ma chérie !” 

“Je suis vraiment contente de te voir ce soir.”

“I can say the same.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek and smiled. “How are you, Gabby?”

“Delighted! Blaise, ‘ee never stops talking about Dean when we are together. Eet must be wonderful to ‘ave someone to love like zat.”

“One day you will, I know it.”

“What of you?” she asked. “I know zee Greengrass girl was very ‘ard for you. Made you believe you were something wrong. ‘Ave you decided to try again?”

Draco felt himself blush.

“I haven’t been with anyone who made me smile as much as you did.”

“Because with me, you were never afraid to laugh,” Gabrielle replied. “And you ‘ave always been good at not answering zee question.”

“Well, there is someone ...”

“A man thees time?” she guessed.

Draco shook his head.

“She told me she is interested in someone else, but I know if I got to choose someone to trust again it would be her.”

“A very lucky woman, then. Though, I ‘ave a good guess who eet may be.”

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked, “Who?” just as Gabrielle leaned to the left to peek around him. He turned to see Hermione run at him, full-tilt. Draco smiled and staggered back a bit as he caught her against his chest. 

She squeaked out, “I’ve been promoted!”

“To what position?”

“Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation!”

Draco put Hermione back on solid ground then said, “That is wonderful news!”

“It really is. To finally have decision-making authority? To have a solid negotiating position? I can do so much more work!”

“That is just like you,” he teased, “Happy for more work.”

Hermione turned to say, “Hi, Gabby,” but kept one hand wrapped around Draco’s arm.

Gabrielle smiled knowingly and Draco grumbled low in his throat. She’d always seen right through him, no Legilimency required. 

“‘Ello, ‘ermione! Beel wishes for me to tell you ‘ello.”

“I promise to visit the cottage soon,” she replied. “I miss them.”

Draco felt every set of eyes in Blaise’s section on the three of them. He caught the moment Hermione realized it, too. They nodded to each other and silently agreed to go their separate ways. Today was about Blaise and Dean; nothing should detract from them.

“I should go meet Blaise,” he said. “It’s nearly time.”

“Yes,” Gabrielle replied, “I weel walk ‘ermione to err seat. You go.”

As he walked toward the stairs, Draco was stopped by Dean’s first chair. She was a kind-looking woman about fifty years old and nearly as tall as Draco. She had pronounced laugh lines and dark hair that fell in loose curls around her face. He sort of stumbled to a stop before saying,

“It is lovely to meet you, ma’am.”

She introduced herself with a firm handshake.

“Journey Hale, I’m Dean’s mother.”

“I can see that. Dean has your smile.”

“You are the ex-boyfriend?” she guessed. “I never expected you to be charming.” 

Draco grimaced but Dean’s mum only grinned back at him. 

“I knew Blaise had excellent taste.” Mrs. Hale’s smile wavered as she said, “Once Dean came out I never expected he would get married in a way that would matter. To be here for this? I couldn’t allow any of the girls to miss it. He has been part of their lives for as long as any of them can remember; hell, Dean has practically raised Zara. This wedding is a gift, and his father would have been happy to know he ended up with a man like Blaise.”

Draco looked over his shoulder at the eight others gathered on Blaise’s side of the aisle. Theo and Bastien were in the front row. Pansy was pestering Gabriel Truman about his hair, while Gwendoline Hedgeflower tried to blend into her chair. Roger Davies, Gabrielle Delacour, and Felix Rosier rounded out the list. He smiled and told Dean’s mum,

“I believe all of us would agree Blaise is the lucky one.”

**.oOo.**

Draco watched, arms crossed, as Blaise continued to pace around the small tent. He looked gorgeous, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Blaise wore a deep purple robe with matching trousers and a silver waistcoat identical to Draco’s. He was perfect down to his shoes, but something bothered him.

“Are you sure you’re not nervous?”

“I am anxious to get married,” Blaise replied, “not nervous.”

“You’re about to tread a path in the ground.”

“Because I haven’t seen him in  _ days! _ ”

“Promise me you won’t have sex on the dais.”

“Please,” Blaise scoffed, “Dean snuck over for a shag on Tuesday.”

Draco chuckled, “So much for tradition.”

“But what if ...” Blaise stopped pacing and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He looked at Draco and asked, “What if he doesn’t love me enough?”

The world stopped turning.

“Sorry ...  _ What? _ ”

Blaise was trembling. He tugged at the cuffs on his robe as his eyes darted around the tent.

“I do not deserve him, and I know that, but I love him more than anything and I don’t understand what he sees in me to feel so strongly. What if he gives me the candle and it doesn’t light?”

Draco put his hands on Blaise’s shoulders and said, “He told me once that he will never love anyone the way he loves you. Is Dean Thomas a liar?”

Blaise shook his head.

“Then the only thing you need to worry about is whether everyone at the house can resist your cake long enough for us to get there.”

Blaise smiled.

“Thank you for being here.” 

“There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

“No, I mean to say that ... Theo and I spoke a month ago because he was worried. He said you were in a bad state when you started seeing Penelope; worse than any of us realized. So thank you for being fully here, able to be part of this the way I always wanted you to be.”

Draco insisted, “We don’t need to speak of those moments, not now.”

Blaise put his hands overtop of Draco’s and took a deep breath. “I watched you suffer for years and said nothing because I never understood what was happening to you. You are my best friend and I failed you. I love you so much and now that you are letting me help—“

“No.” Draco shook his head. “No talking about me, this is your day.”

“Yes, it is! I need you to understand how deeply I appreciate you allowing me to help you recover from ... from ...  _ this.”  _ He still hadn’t gotten comfortable with the word ‘anorexia’ and Draco couldn’t blame him. “For trusting me, for being my first chair even after I turned away from you.”

“You asked me to trust you again, and I have not regretted it,” Draco replied. “I was never honest with you about it, kept you at a distance, so this is on me as well. But I get to be your first chair today at the best moment of your life, which is all that matters. Are you ready to do this?”

Blaise nodded, “Yes.” He took a deep breath and looked toward the opening of the tent. “I can do this.”

**.oOo.**

Dean and his mum were already waiting in front of the dais when Draco entered with Blaise close behind. The bright greens and pinks of spring had taken over the park, and the trees behind the dais were in full bloom. The sun would soon set, casting the venue in an orange glow as he led Blaise to the bottom of the dais steps. There were two chairs facing each other on the platform, equidistant from the officiant. At the base of each sat a basin and pitcher of water. Dean wore a traditional Muggle suit, but it complemented Blaise in the best way. It was a gorgeous setting and Draco was delighted to be there. For this brief moment in time every worry, every terrible thing he’d ever done, drifted away until it was too small to matter.

Draco hugged Dean. His father said a handshake was traditional, but fuck tradition. He was so goddamn happy. Nobody on the planet deserved love more than Dean Thomas. 

“I don’t really have anything to say.”

“Well there is a first time for everything,” Dean quipped.

Draco chuckled and said, “I know you will take care of him.”

“Always.”

Draco had been Blaise’s best friend for as long as he could remember. He’d practice cooking in the manor kitchens, baking Draco five different types of biscuits to see which was best. During those freezing winter nights in the Slytherin dungeons, they squeezed into a bed and huddled for warmth. When they were dating, Draco would roll over in the morning to look at Blaise, still relaxed in sleep, and those moments were the most content he’d ever been. But never, in the twenty-plus years they knew each other, had Blaise looked at Draco the way he was looking at Dean.

He took his seat and his hands shook as he waited for the ceremony to begin. 

Theo whispered, “You know it’s alright to be jealous.”

Draco nodded, “Yeah,” though not convincingly.

“I fully expect to be first chair when you do this.”

“I wouldn’t bet money on me finding anyone.”

Blaise held Dean’s hand as they took the three steps up to the top of the dais. Lee Jordan stood between them, dressed in the traditional blood-red officiant robe. He motioned for everyone to sit as the grooms tried (and failed miserably) to hide their grins. Draco’s knee bounced rapidly up and down until Theo covered it with his hand.

“Dunno, you and Granger look pretty close. Trace said the same thing when she saw the two of you weeks ago.”

“Hermione and I are friends,” Draco insisted. “That is all.”

“Right, she is a friend who threw herself at you while you were speaking to your gorgeous ex-girlfriend.”

The ceremony began before Draco could respond. LJ turned his toward the crowd and his voice boomed throughout the small space.

“Welcome! We are here this afternoon to witness Dean Thomas and Blaise Zabini join together in marriage, in the most ancient tradition our world has to offer. Each and every one of you has been a special part of their lives, and they are trusting you to be part of their new life together.”

Draco sat up a bit straighter in his seat.

“For those of you unfamiliar with the ceremony, considering it hasn’t been done in thirty years should be just about all of you, it takes place in three parts. Before they begin their life together, these two men will pledge humility, honesty, and eternity.”

Draco leaned over to Theo and whispered, “I thought it was purity?”

“Dean didn’t want that word used,” Theo mumbled back. “Said blood purity is what took his father away and it has no place at his wedding.”

Lee Jordan continued.

“We will begin with Blaise, so Dean, if you will take your place in the chair—”

“I know how much Blaise has been looking forward to this,” he teased.

Dean sat in the chair and everything melted away. Knowing what was to come sent chills down Draco’s spine. If there was one thing Blaise’s mother beat into him as a child, it was pride. Never let anyone make you fall to your knees. Draco was certain Blaise’s mother had told him the same thing Draco’s parents told him, “If you kneel before someone, you may as well roll over and present yourself for the taking.” Blaise shrugged off his robe and gently placed it on his own chair before LJ narrated the process.

“The first step in pledging your life to each other is a fresh start. This new life begins pure, as the mistakes of the past are washed away.”

Blaise took a deep, slow breath and locked eyes with Dean as he took a knee. Blaise loosened the laces of Dean’s derby shoes, then gently pulled off each one before placing them aside. He cuffed each leg of Dean’s trousers three times before pulling the small basin toward the space between them. Blaise pointed at Dean and said,

“Only for you.”

Dean nodded.

“I know.”

LJ continued as Blaise removed Dean’s socks.

“This ritual symbolizes humility.”

Blaise conjured a towel and slung it over one shoulder. He placed one hand beneath Dean’s right foot as he Summoned the pitcher.

“It is easy to say you will always put your partner first, but it is far more difficult to swallow your pride in front of your closest friends. To put your partner’s dignity above your own.”

Blaise poured the water over Dean’s foot then placed the pitcher on the ground. He used his fingers to slowly work the water around and between each of Dean’s toes, washing away invisible grime. Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as Blaise dried the moisture with his towel. He replaced Dean’s sock and carefully placed Dean’s foot back inside the shoe before he repeated the process. 

“This ritual symbolizes a fresh start, clean feet and pure hearts as Blaise and Dean begin to walk the path of life together.”

It should have been awkward, but Blaise performed his part of the ceremony with such earnest concentration that the words held true. By the time he finished tying Dean’s second shoe, Draco was holding back tears. Of everything he wanted from life, he wanted that sort of love more than anything. Someone he would kneel for regardless of who was watching. 

Blaise finished and put his robe on. Dean stood up from his chair and wrapped his arms around Blaise’s shoulders.

“I know that was hard for you.”

“It wasn’t,” Blaise replied, “because it was for you.”

Dean gave him a quick peck on the lips and LJ laughed.

“You’re supposed to save that for the end!”

“Can’t help it,” Dean teased, “he’s irresistible.” But he took a step back so Lee Jordan could continue.

“Traditionally, the participants in this ceremony recite a standard set of vows handed down to us from Maeve herself. However, Blaise and Dean decided to write their own. In the tradition of honesty, Blaise will recite them now.”

“This part?” Blaise said with a smile. “This part I can do.” He looked up into Dean’s eyes and said, “I do not know much about love, never had a proper teacher, but I am an expert in food. After you walked into my life, I realized those two things are not so different. Love fills you, warms you up and makes you smile just the same as a good breakfast. I tried to put a name to what it is I feel for you, but the only thing I could think of was bread.”

Draco laughed with the rest of the audience. Blaise could be out of his depth when it came to love; Draco knew that firsthand. Blaise chuckled and paused to wipe away tears that pooled in the corners of his eyes.

“Bread begins with a yeast mixture, and you have to knead it, work at the dough until it becomes smooth. You let it rise, punch it down, then allow it to rise again before putting it in the oven to bake. You must do everything right to get a decent loaf. You can bake from your mind and end up with something decent, but the best bread can only come from the heart. You have to care about the yeast and the flour before you create the dough. Falling in love with you felt like baking the most amazing loaf of bread. Now our life together is warm and flavourful and perfect.”

Dean smiled and asked, “Does that make me the yeast or the flour?”

“The flour,” Blaise replied, “because I need it for everything.”

Dean used his thumb to wipe a tear from Blaise’s cheek.

“Good answer.”

“Dean Thomas, you taught me how love should feel. You have a kind heart, even though the world has wronged you a dozen times over. You are determined to treat everyone with the dignity they deserve, which is why it is so easy to love you.”

“Not always,” Dean replied. 

“Yes, always!” Blaise insisted. “Even when we argue, it is never because we cannot come to an agreement. It is never because we are too different, too angry, too much of anything. I always love you enough to listen.”

“And I will always love you enough to be honest.”

“Which is why every night I fall asleep with you is a gift, and every morning I wake up to you makes the day worth living. Whatever happens in between, I only want you to be happy. Dean Thomas, I love you unconditionally and without hesitation. I vow to encourage you, trust you, and respect you. I promise to work with you to build a life that is far better than whatever we could manage alone.” Blaise plucked the platinum wedding band from his pocket and placed it on Dean’s finger. “Today, I choose you to be my husband. I accept you as you are and offer myself in return. I will care for you, stand beside you, and share all of life’s adversities from this day forward. Dean, it is an honour to give you my name.”

Draco looked over at Dean’s mother to see her wiping away tears. Dean was smiling through tears like he’d only just realized what the ceremony meant. It hadn’t hit him until right then that Blaise wanted this as much as he did. 

All at once, the emotion of the day hit Draco like a Bludger to the head. In the deepest, darkest part of his heart, he knew he would never have the sort of love being pledged in front of him. Lee Jordan did the whole ceremony again for Dean, but Draco came in and out. The pit in his stomach got heavier as Dean washed Blaise’s feet. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to be the one up there, to have his friends watch him profess undying love. That was the sort of person he wanted to be, not this. Not the man who couldn’t even be happy on his best friend’s wedding day! That was the lark, wasn’t it? He would continue to drag people down, too heavy to pick himself up. 

Theo nudged him right before Dean began his vows.

“Look, mate, I don’t know whatever spiral you’re in right now, but you will hate yourself later if you aren’t present for this.”

Draco nodded and focused on the ceremony. Theo held his hand, and Draco was grateful he didn’t have to explain himself. Theo would not miss the warning signs a second time. This was Blaise’s day and Draco needed to remember it.

Dean smiled down at Blaise as the sun sank into the horizon behind them.

“I think everyone understands how much I love you, and that words will never express it properly. My mum probably doesn’t remember this, but when I was ten or so I asked her if she loved my dad.”

Draco glanced over to the other side and saw Dean’s sisters squirm a bit in their seats. Perhaps it was something they agreed not to speak about. Hell, as far as Draco knew Dean never mentioned his father. But his mum was unperturbed and her grin never wavered.

“She said yes, she did, and that love changes with time just like the seasons. My mum said, ‘If you ever marry someone, make sure they are Autumn.’ When I asked why, she told me Autumn is comfortable. It is the season of beautiful change, enough heat to keep you warm at night without making you sweat. She said to find someone who won’t look away when your leaves start to change. Find someone so that when winter comes you know a beautiful spring is right around the corner. I didn’t understand it at the time. I understood it even less with my first girlfriend, but I think it’s rather obvious why.”

Everyone laughed and it seemed to relax Dean just a bit. He paused to scan the crowd and smile at his mum. Tears fell down Blaise’s face as he made no effort to hold them back.

“My relationships either ran hot or they froze over; nothing felt right until I found you. Or, well, you found me. I walked into your restaurant with a date and walked out with you on my arm instead. The first time you kissed me I felt so warm, like I could do nothing but hold you in my arms for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy. Blaise, I believe in you, the person you will grow to be, and the couple we will be together. I promise to be faithful and always make our family's happiness my priority. I will be yours in fortune or in need, in sickness and in health, in failure and success. I will dream with you, celebrate with you, and walk beside you through whatever our lives may bring. You are my person—my love and my life, today and always.”

Dean took Blaise’s hands in his own as he said, “Blaise Zabini, you are Autumn and you feel like home to me.” He placed the ring on Blaise’s finger. “Our leaves will turn and some may fall, but I will be happy to be your husband every day of the year. Today, I take you as my husband. It is the single greatest honour of my life to take your name as my own.”

“There is a certain power contained in these spoken words,” LJ said. “The promises Blaise and Dean have made today are eternal. If I had to pick two people whose love would withstand the test of time, it would be these two. As is tradition, each of them has been given a candle containing Gilbrathian Fire. It is an inextinguishable flame representing the promise of eternity together. These candles will remain lit as long as their love remains true.”

The candles themselves were pure white decorated with delicate vines carved into the wax. For all his anxiety before the ceremony, Blaise appeared perfectly content when he accepted his candle from Lee Jordan. It was approximately the diameter of a teacup; Blaise offered it to Dean and the flame appeared the moment it touched Dean’s fingers. Next, Blaise took Dean’s proffered candle. To absolutely no one’s surprise, the Gilbrathian flame appeared as the sun completed its descent behind them. 

The park was plunged into near-darkness, lit only by the candles and small lamps lining the walkway. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, an array of fairies took to the sky. They bathed the venue in coloured lights as Dean’s sisters stared up in wonder.

“It is my sincere pleasure to officially join these two together in matrimony.” Lee Jordan couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Dean, you were a bit ahead of schedule with the last one, but you can snog him again if you like.”

Blaise took the lead and pulled Dean down into a deep, meaningful kiss. The rest of the ceremony was a blur. Blaise and Dean were swarmed by well-wishers, careful to stay away from the open flames. Dean’s smallest sister, all of about nine years old, continued to stare at the sky as the fairies appeared to mingle with the stars. Hermione took her hand and slowly walked to Draco at the edge of the crowd.

“The ceremony was lovelier than I expected,” she admitted. “Their vows were wonderful.”

Draco nodded. Hermione caught a better glimpse of him and frowned.

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” At her doubtful expression, he said, “I am happy for Blaise; this is what he always hoped for.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Her tone was gentle, but her gaze remained firm. “You look like your mind is elsewhere, and I don’t like wherever that is.”

“I am trying my best,” he whispered, “today is more emotional than I expected. I thought I could handle it, but it has been difficult.”

“If it was too much for you to handle, would you tell me?”

Draco looked down into her eyes and he couldn’t lie to her. She already knew the answer.

“No, I wouldn’t. Not today.”


	18. The Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on April 28th, 2007.

Draco hated parties.

More specifically, Draco hated parties where he had to sit and eat food in front of two dozen people. He walked into Blaise’s backyard and was immediately assaulted by shouts of, “UNCLE DRACO!” He scooped Scarlett up into his arms and hugged her tightly to his chest. 

“Missed you, Scarlett.”

“Missed you, too!” she replied, overly excited. “Dad said Uncle Blaise made cake!”

Draco smiled as Sebastien tugged on his robe.

“Is Hermione coming?”

“She should be here soon—”

“HERMIONE!”

Draco was all but forgotten once Hermione stepped through the door. Sebastien ran over to her and immediately asked about one of the new creatures he’d seen in a book. Draco whispered in Scarlett’s ear,

“Does your brother like Hermione more than he likes me?”

“No,” she giggled. “She makes you happy, so he wants her to stay.”

“Oh.”

“She’s more fun than Miss Tori.”

That was a train of thought Draco did not need to follow. He slowly walked over to Hermione, who listened to each of Sebastien’s questions with rapt attention. Draco gently nudged Seb with his foot and asked,

“What are you two talking about?”

“Did you know Hermione flew on the back of a REAL DRAGON?!”

“Well she wasn’t the one trying to steer.”

That was a voice Draco hadn’t heard in awhile. His posture went a bit rigid when Potter hugged Hermione. He wasn’t jealous. He definitely didn’t envy the ease with which they held each other, or how Hermione relaxed beneath his touch.

Potter asked, “How was it?”

“Beautiful, actually,” Hermione replied as he stepped back. “They’re so ... committed.”

Alicia Weasley appeared almost out of nowhere to hug Hermione and say, “That’s usually what a marriage is meant to be.”

“Yes, well, I suppose second time around is the charm for some of us,” Hermione shot back. 

Draco choked back a laugh. As Mrs. Potter greeted Hermione with yet another hug, Ron fucking Weasley joined the circle. Draco tried to slowly extricate himself from the group, but it was for naught.

“Malfoy?” Weasley asked, every word coated with disdain. “What are you doing here?”

Draco raised one eyebrow, surprised even Weasley would ask such a stupid question.

“I am first chair at my best friend’s wedding, and you are asking why I am at the reception?”

“I meant why are you  _ right here _ ?”

“Ah, yes,  _ apologies _ for intruding on your golden circle” Draco said, dripping sarcasm. Scarlett frowned as Draco held his hand out to Sebastien. “My godchildren and I were just leaving.”

“But ... Hermione was gonna tell me about the dragon!”

“Another time, Seb,” Draco said. He glared at Weasley. “She needs time with her friends.”

Hermione insisted, “You don’t have to go.”

“You’re right,” Draco agreed. “Seb can stay and the three of you tell him about your daring escape from Gringotts.”

Hermione grabbed his wrist as he turned away. Draco looked down at her hand, then glanced up at her eyes, wondering what she expected to happen. They both knew he couldn’t stay without getting into a confrontation with Weasley. Blaise and Dean deserved better than that, so Draco would swallow every insult on the tip of his tongue and turn away.

She asked, “Save me a seat?”

Draco nodded.

“Of course.”

As they walked away, Scarlett huffed and crossed her arms.

“I don’t like him,” she said. “He’s mean.”

“Mhmm,” Draco agreed. He paused. “But you know what?” He turned around and walked back to the circle. 

Weasley asked, “You lost, Malfoy?”

“Not here for you, I’m here for Potter.”

“What for?” Harry asked.

Draco chuckled, “Not you. The other one. Mrs. Potter is a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies.” He turned to face Ginny and said, “Scarlett wants to be a Quidditch player when she gets older.”

“Really?” Ginny looked at Scarlett and asked, “Which position?”

“Chaser!”

“Do you practice?”

Scarlett nodded emphatically and said, “Uncle Draco takes me to practice every week!”

Draco left her with Ginny and bolted. He was counting down the minutes until it would be appropriate to leave. Right after dessert, probably. Maybe no one would notice. He spoke briefly with Luna Lovegood about a commission. She was wearing a tiered dress, each piece a different brightly-coloured pattern, and impossible to miss.

“Five pieces, if you’d be willing,” he said.

Luna agreed wholeheartedly. She was a nice conversationalist when it came to art, but the minute it veered off ... Not the easiest discussion to exit. He said goodbye and wandered around the yard for a moment. He rarely went to the back of the house, but the space was massive. There was a giant tree in the far left corner and a fire pit in the far right. It felt like a home; something Draco was still searching for. 

“Tracey says you and Granger might be next.”

He turned to see Pansy leaning against a chair, watching all the drama unfold from a distance. Not her style; she was usually found in the thick of it. She looked good, had let her hair grow out into a longer bob and was wearing a dark green dress which clung to just about everything. The party, however, seemed to be happening around her. She had never been the friendliest person to Dean’s side of the table. Longbottom, especially, but Hermione and Roger Davies weren’t exactly on her list of favoured people. 

Draco was surprised that she greeted him with a smile. Their last meeting hadn’t ended happily. 

“We’re friends.”

“Are we?”

“No, I meant me and ...” Draco grumbled. “Never mind. Yes, of course, we are friends, Pansy.”

She whistled, “You look fantastic.”

“You look wonderful, yourself.”

There was a long pause before she said, “I don’t regret what I did.”

Draco agreed, “You shouldn’t.”

“You mean that?” Pansy asked, surprised. “Because you haven’t talked to me, since I—”

“—Told me I needed to dump my girlfriend.”

“Because she was rubbish!”

Draco conceded, “You were right.”

“You’re damn right I was! I was the only person who saw what she was doing to you, but I saw it. I wasn’t going to watch you lose everything that makes you who you are. It looks like you changed your hair for her, too.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “I  _ told _ you she would play with you until she got bored.”

“My hair was not her doing, but she left me in November.”

“Theo told me a few days after it happened.”

“She said all the things you said she would say. Worse things, if I am honest. You were right and I should have ended it before she did.”

“It looks like you figured something out, though. You don’t look like death anymore. ”

Draco looked around before whispering, “I have a therapist.”

Pansy frowned and took a step backward like she’d been slapped.

“What the hell did Astoria say to you?”

“Nothing I feel like repeating.”

“Draco, if what she said was what finally made you go ...”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “It wasn’t that. If anything, she probably stopped me from getting help earlier. I hear her voice in my head all the time, constantly reminding me how much I have to change ...” He sighed heavily. “My hair started falling out, Pans. That’s why I finally told my father.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the ground and crossed her arms. 

“What’s wrong?”

“If I had been there, would you have come to me?”

Draco nodded, “But you weren’t speaking to me and I was upset that I never listened to you. I could not come to you, begging for help. Not when you were right the entire time.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of around me,” Pansy insisted. “You  _ know  _ that.”

A chorus of applause broke out as Blaise and Dean finally entered the yard. Dean kissed his husband on the cheek before they made their way to opposite ends of the table. It sat ten on each side, plus the two of them at either end.

“I know,” Draco assured her. “I know, and sometime soon we can discuss more. But right now—”

“Of course,” Pansy nodded. “Blaise’s day.”

Draco was seated at Blaise’s right, with Theo across the table and Bastien on Draco’s right. Except, Bastien plucked his placard from the table and said,

“Padma’s down toward Dean’s end, so I’ve switched.”

Blaise nodded, a sly smile on his face. Draco knew that look. He should not have been surprised when Hermione took Bastien’s place, but his heart still managed a little flip. 

“Padma’s been interested in him for ages,” Hermione said as she sat down. “I am surprised it took him so long to make a move.”

“Some men can be rather thick-headed when it comes to a woman’s interest,” Theo said, giving Draco a pointed look. Before Draco could respond, he said, “Scarlett insisted on eating next to Mrs. Potter. If Scarlett cared half as much about Charms as she does Quidditch, she’d be levitating Quaffles by now.”

Draco glanced down the table to see Sebastien happily situated between Potter and Weasley. Normally it would’ve made his blood boil to know Seb had chosen them over him, but he didn’t have the energy to care. If Seb was having a nice time, it was worth it. After a few moments of conversation, Blaise stood up and said,

“Thank you for coming to our celebration. I have been married to Dean for about thirty minutes, and it has been the best half hour of my life. With that, dinner is served.”

The food appeared on everyone’s plates, and Draco told himself he could eat it. Or, well, enough of it; there was a whole section of fruit. He looked over at Blaise and mouthed  _ Thank you. _ He nodded then made conversation elsewhere. Hermione dug into the food and mentioned,

“Sebastien loved hearing about our miraculous escape.”

“I am sure he did,” Draco agreed as he chopped up his chicken into small bits. “It is quite the story.”

“He seemed to like Ron quite a lot.”

“I knew there was something wrong with him,” Draco teased. 

Hermione rammed her elbow into his side and he laughed even harder. Even she couldn’t hold back a smile. Draco choked out,

“My mother asked about you.”

“I’m sure that was a pleasant conversation.”

“Surprisingly,” Draco revealed, “it was. Quite funny, actually. One of her friends saw us at Diagon Alley a few weeks ago and thought Scarlett and Sebastien were our kids.”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed.

“Their hair is far too normal for them to be our kids.”

Draco grinned.

“I agree completely.”

They reentered the broader conversation. Draco ate some chicken, conscious of at least six pairs of eyes on him as he did. Pansy was less subtle than the rest of them, both by nature and only having been told about his recovery a minute before the meal. Hermione pulled her fruit plate to rest between them. Draco speared a piece of watermelon with his fork as Hermione stole a piece of his chicken. It was a natural thing, Draco taking her fruit and Hermione stealing bits off his plate. They did this every Saturday, but Dean’s side of the table took special note.

One of the elves appeared at Blaise’s side to say, “There is a visitor at the door, sir.”

“Tell them to go away,” Blaise answered. “We are having a party.”

“She says it’s urgent, sir.”

“Ask Dean what he would like me to do.”

The elf slowly trudged over to Dean’s end of the table. Pansy followed it with her eyes, but she’d been sneaking glances at Katie Bell throughout the meal. Draco smiled; he’d seen that look a dozen times before. 

Pansy asked, “Which team does Bell play for?” She was met by shrugs and the shaking heads and let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t want to fly blind on this one.”

Hermione huffed and said, “Her broom flies in your direction.”

“Yes!” Pansy pumped her fist and leaned back. Target acquired. 

The elf explained the situation to Dean, who made to stand but Potter stood instead. Some gallant notion about not letting Dean leave his own wedding reception. 

Draco leaned over to Hermione and whispered, “You didn’t need to tell her. She could have figured it out on her own.”

Hermione shrugged. 

“It will be easier on both of them if they know. Katie’s been checking her out since she arrived and they’re hardly subtle about it. Since I won’t be shagging anyone after this, might as well help someone else with a shot.”

“What about the man who captured your interest?” Draco asked. “No interest in an after-party?”

Hermione set down her fork and ran a hand through her hair.

“He’s not ready.”

“Not ready? What is there to wait for?”

“He’s just ...” Hermione groaned in frustration. “He is not ready for a relationship now, is all.”

“But—”

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice rang throughout the backyard. “It’s for you.”

Draco turned in his seat to see Astoria walk out, and immediately turned around to push his plate away. Why the hell was she there? Draco felt lightheaded, he could hardly believe this was happening.  _ You’re a bloody corpse. Half a man. _

“Sorry, I told her to wait out front but she followed me in.”

Hermione stood up and turned to face her before Draco could blink. There was an edge to her voice when she said,

“You need to leave.”

Pansy walked around the table to stand next to Hermione and agreed, “You need to leave right now.”

“I just need to give this back,” Astoria said. “He left it at my place.”

_ The robe. _ Oh, God, oh, Merlin’s fucking arse, he grabbed his shirt and left the robe. There she was, returning it like he’d left it after a quick shag. Which, admittedly, almost happened. They  _ hadn’t _ , but it  _ looked  _ like they had _ ... _

“MISS TORI!”

Sebastien shot out of his chair, and Draco assumed he ran to hug Astoria. He couldn’t tell; he was facing the opposite direction, with Pansy and Hermione making themselves a barrier between them. That boy was a poor judge of people.

Blaise said, “Astoria, please leave my wedding reception before Hermione decides to drag you out by your hair.”

“You got married?!” Astoria paused to survey the scene, noting the myriad of people and their attire. “Oh. I didn’t ... I mean, Daphne said he’s here every Saturday so I ... Congratulations?”

Draco wiped tears from his eyes. Goddamnit, he kept finding ways to ruin the day. He had to help things get back to normal. He stood up from his chair and stepped around Hermione, who grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“Don’t,” she warned. “This will not end well for you.”

He frowned and said, “I am hardly concerned about me right now.” 

“When are you ever?”

Draco gently ran his thumb across her knuckles then dropped her hand. He brushed past Astoria and said, 

“Follow me.”

He led her into the living area. The same place where he told Blaise about his condition. Anorexia had taken nearly everything from him, but he refused to let it ruin his friends. Astoria shut the door and offered Draco his robe.

“I want to apologize.”

“I don’t need your apology,” Draco said. I need you to leave.”

“Look, I didn’t know it was a wedding, otherwise I would have found you another time. When I came to the manor your father slammed the door in my face. This was my best option.”

“It doesn’t matter, Astoria, I need you to leave.”

“But—”

“Thank you for returning my robe. Now everyone in there thinks we had sex when the only thing I am trying to do is move on!”

“What the hell was that out there?” she asked. “Pansy wanted nothing to do with you as long as we were together. Blaise used to be my friend and now I don’t know anything about him. When I left, Hermione Granger didn’t give half a fuck about you—”

“Leave Hermione out of this!” Draco snapped.

“Why? Did you replace me with her?”

“As if Hermione could ever look at me that way? You said so yourself, no one will ever love me.”

“I am sorry that what I said hurt you so deeply, but—”

“But what? Was, ‘You are half a man,’ meant to be a compliment? There is nothing you could have told me that is worse than what you said.”

“I was frustrated!”

“And I needed you to understand what was happening to me!”

“I did!”

“And then you walked away!”

“I want this to work,” Astoria pleaded. “We can make this work!”

“No, we can’t!” Draco shouted. “This happened because you couldn’t  _ help _ me! You promised to become part of my family. But when you realized you couldn’t  _ fix  _ me, you left.”

He was shaking with rage, frustration, and a dozen more emotions he didn't understand. Astoria turned toward the door and Draco shouted,

“Go ahead, leave! I am used to it!”

She turned back to say, “You have to let that go. Our breakup was your fault.”

“No, our  _ relationship _ was my fault. I thought being with you would help me figure out how to move forward but you only made me hate myself more. I saw you as someone I could trust and would have come to you in my own time.”

“You overestimated my patience.”

“I overestimated your heart!”

Astoria recoiled like she’d been slapped. Strangely enough, that felt good. She had hurt him with the truth, he was simply repaying the favour.

“You were right, no one will ever love me; no one will ever do for me what Blaise just did for Dean.” Draco pointed toward the backyard and said, “But no one out there has walked away from me! Those are my friends, the people I want in my life, and you are not one of them.”

“I could be.”

Yes, Draco supposed she could be. He could allow her back into his life so she could try to fix him again. There were moments with Astoria when he felt the way he always imagined love would feel. But love wasn’t a momentary thing, was it? It was always there in another person. It was what Blaise had with Dean: yeast  _ and _ flour.

“If you’ll let me try again, I will do all of it.”

“If you ever loved me, Astoria, even for a moment, just—” Draco’s voice broke and he took a moment to gather his courage. “Please, walk away and leave me alone.”

She nodded and turned around without looking his direction. The moment he heard the front door swing shut, Draco collapsed onto the sofa and broke down in sobs. He must’ve cried for a full minute before he could breathe again. Draco couldn’t hold it in, the emotion of the day was too much and it had nowhere to go. Well, there was  _ one _ place it could go.

Draco wiped his face and stood up. There was a bedroom at the front of the house on the second floor with its own bathroom. No one would think to look for him there for at least five minutes. He had only taken two steps by the time Theo appeared out of nowhere.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Upstairs.”

“No, you’re not. You are coming outside.”

Draco shook his head and said, “Not like this. I can’t.”

“I know you feel like shit right now. Whatever is happening in your head is too much for you to handle and you are about to fall back into whatever death spiral you were in three months ago.” Theo swallowed hard and grabbed the back of Draco’s neck before he continued. “But I am not doing this again, sitting by and watching you tear yourself down until there’s nothing left. I’m not doing it this time. You are going to get better, I promise. And when you do, you’re going to walk into this house and see photos of Blaise and Dean on this day. When you look at those photos, I don’t want you to remember Astoria or whatever else is making you feel like you can’t have that same happiness.”

Draco nodded.

“I want you to remember their vows to each other, so that when you’re writing yours you know exactly how you are meant to feel. You’ll remember how you didn’t try to keep my kids away from Potter and Weasley, though you had every right to, because you know the sort of people we want them to be. When you think back on today I want you to remember Hermione stealing your food, the way she can’t stand to be away from you, and how gorgeous she looks tonight.”

“She does look nice.”

“Yeah,” Theo smiled. “Yeah, she does. Just for tonight, allow yourself to be happy. Astoria’s not in your life, but we are. All of us who love you, who consider you a friend. A  _ brother. _ ”

Draco wiped his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

“You’re right.”

“I know I’m right you fucking git, but you have to try to be happy. Just tonight, alright?”

“Okay.”

“We’ll keep working on this with you. All of us. Together. Just give yourself tonight off.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not too puffy, should be good to go.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!”

Theo dragged Draco to the backyard and everyone pretended not to glance over, but he felt all the eyes on him as he took his seat. Blaise looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” Draco said with a watery smile. He shook his head and repeated, “She’s gone. I am fine.”

“Okay,” Blaise replied. 

He didn’t buy it, and Draco regretted coming. He should’ve left after the ceremony. He was not up to this, no matter what Theo believed. He was not strong enough. Hermione took his hand underneath the table and twined their fingers together. It steadied everything enough for him to rejoin the conversation.

A few minutes later, Blaise and Dean cut into their cake. Dean smashed his plate into Blaise’s face, who then pulled Dean down into a kiss so they were both broke away covered in frosting. Draco found himself laughing along, though the envy never faded. 

Their first dance was wonderful. Draco danced with Hermione once, to a more upbeat song. He was happy to let his hands linger on her waist, trail his fingers down her back, it felt nice to be close to her. He also felt Weasley glaring holes in his back, but Draco never cared about him before. Why start?

Hermione stuck by him the rest of the night. Not clinging, but she was never away for too long. Enough time for Draco to speak with Romilda, to say hello to Gabriel, and even catch Pansy snogging Katie Bell behind the tree. Bastien left early with Padma, which was fantastic. They would work well together.

Hermione, three glasses of champagne deep, leaned into Draco’s side.

“If I get married again,” she said, “I hope it feels like this.”

For the briefest moment, Draco allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like. He’d welcome them home every night. He wouldn’t shrink away from their touch and wouldn’t feel like he always needed to change. She would only want him to be who he was. He could keep inviting her into his life, introducing her to his friends, falling asleep on her couch ...

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Then he realized he would never have any of it. Not with her. Draco made an excuse to leave; one he couldn’t remember if he tried. He had done his duty, smiled through Blaise’s wedding reception, and made some memories he wouldn’t hate just as Theo asked. He Apparated to the manor, tossed his robe on the floor, and collapsed on the bed.

_ I made it. _

_ I did it. _

_ So why do I feel worse than ever? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco: "So who's this man you have a crush on?"  
> Hermione: "He's tall, bisexual, has blond hair, is one of the wealthiest men in Britain, and has a serious case of self-loathing."  
> Draco: [IDontKnowHer.gif]
> 
> ❤️ Hope y'all stay happy and healthy!


	19. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco runs away from his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place from April 29th to mid-July, 2007.
> 
> TW: suicidal ideation  
> TW: food restriction  
> TW: sadness

Relapse happened in phases. It was a dimly-lit path Draco failed to realize he was on until he was too far gone to turn back. He wished he had the strength to see it earlier. People like Hermione Granger wouldn’t take back a single moment of their lives because their bodies and minds were the result of their own decisions. They refused to give in, even when holding out did not seem to be worth the pain. Draco spent his entire life with the thoughts of other people influencing him, allowing his fear and their opinions to make choices for him.

**Avoidance**

_No one will ever love you like this._

Those words bounced around Draco’s head for hours. “This” was all he knew. Without Anorexia, he was only bits of himself which didn’t even add up to a whole person. He could repeat the past ten weeks over and over until his self-hatred was beaten down to a more manageable level. He could sit back and watch as Granger entered a relationship with the man she refused to name. He would smile and swallow the pain, just as he had during his time with Astoria. As he had when Blaise found Dean, when he let Gabby walk away, and every time he chose to put his friends’ lives above his own.

If he was going to figure himself out, he couldn't do it here. Not at the manor, not around his friends, not even in England. He needed time alone. 

Around two in the morning, Draco lifted himself off the bed and walked into his closet. He Summoned a trunk and began to haphazardly shove clothes inside. No care for what made it in, Draco filled it and prayed enough of his shoes matched. Draco knew it was a mistake, but there was a high to be found in leaving everything behind. 

He scribbled a quick note, placed it on his pillow, and then he left.

> _Be back soon._
> 
> _-Draco_

He ended up in a set of terrace apartments toward the outskirts of Paris, away from the hustle and bustle of both Muggles and wizards. Nowhere anyone would think to look for him. It was a decent-size apartment with a single bedroom, exactly what Draco needed.

That first week was wonderful. His apartment looked out onto other balconies, houses with white stucco and blue roofs. Houses and trees dotted the landscape all the way to the horizon; it was the perfect place to stay lost. Draco purchased a few books to read, read them, then bought a dozen more. He’d been to the market and picked up some food to stick in the fridge since he didn’t feel like cooking. Draco was running away from his relationships, not recovery ...

Or so he told himself.

**Denial**

Deep down, Draco knew he was running away from the truth. The terrifying reality that the one thing he wanted out of life was the one thing he did not deserve. Then again, what did he deserve? Penelope would say, “More than you are willing to give yourself.” It did not occur to Draco until Friday that he missed an appointment. Not that it mattered; he already paid so Penelope had an unexpected hour to herself. Life was better for everyone when Draco didn’t show up.

He held off for awhile, made it a full week eating two meals a day. On that second Sunday, however, Draco owled Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes for a massive pack of Puking Pastilles. The weight of everything was too much. Looking back on Blaise’s wedding, he harbored so much shame. He realized throughout recovery that he could not be selective about the emotions he experienced. It was not like Occlumency when he could choose which memories to show and which to hide. When he allowed himself to be happy, he also let in the fear he would never amount to more than the sum of his friends. He was afraid of a future in which he was alone. He’d rather be alone in the moment, than alone at some point in the future. Draco knew it wasn’t logical, but he needed to be alone to get better. And he would get better ... eventually. He was handling it.

Draco opened the package two days later and started laughing. The orange and purple candies spilled all over his kitchen floor. Why the hell had he ordered Puking Pastilles when there was no one watching? He could skip any meal he wanted. He could skip _every_ meal he wanted.

So he did.

The second week flew by, with Draco going to the market for fruit every morning, and reading the rest of the day away. It was paradise and he had no problems at all. He would eat a pear for breakfast one morning and an apple the next, with nothing but saltines between. 

Draco’s body began to shrink and it happened quickly. He caught himself in profile in the bathroom mirror one day and teared up because he looked _normal_ again. The excess weight he built up over ten weeks of recovery was gone. He pressed two fingers into that familiar spot right above his hip and winced. 

Success.

**Confusion / Overreaction**

On the third Sunday morning, Draco realized no one had come looking for him. He had not made it difficult;, there were only so many places he would go. He spoke French and the Malfoys had three properties in France, it’s not like there was much of an inductive leap involved. Yet, no one cared enough to come looking. Admittedly, he hadn’t expected them to. They had their own lives which were far more important than whatever Draco decided to do with his. But having that confirmed hurt him more than he anticipated.

He decided to test the waters during the fourth week and watch the French national Quidditch team play Romania. If anyone wanted to find him, they would hear about it. The pale blond man whose left arm was always covered. The man who couldn’t be anyone but Draco Malfoy. No one looked at him twice, however, and he was just another face in the crowd. It was exactly what he thought he wanted.

So why didn’t it feel good?

**Depression**

The weeks afterward blended together. He often sat on the terrace with a book, hoping the sunlight would brighten his mood. If he woke in the morning, he would watch the sun rise. If he woke in the afternoon, he watched the sun set. Draco read the books he wanted to read, walked the streets he wanted to walk, and finally allowed himself room to breathe. 

Since he did not have a house-elf, Draco learned to clean. It was a surprisingly difficult process, because things he never realized could get dirty somehow managed to do just that. He held off cleaning the toilet for as long as he could but eventually used the Scouring Charm to his advantage. He took some pride in that, learning to do something on his own. 

Draco also became a regular at the market. Every morning he’d wander around and say hello to everyone at the various stalls and almost convinced himself they were friends. They smiled at him, laughed when he made euphemisms about the cucumbers, and occasionally comped him a melon. Then he got to know his neighbors a bit. The old witch next door invited Draco in once every few days and made him biscuits. The biscuits always went in the bin once he got back, but the effort meant more to him than Draco could say. Then there was the artist on the floor below him who was the closest thing he had to a friend. The man had long, well-maintained hair that Draco envied. He missed his hair more than anything.

“Do you paint?”

Draco shook himself from those thoughts and said, “I work with ink, mostly.”

“Try oils,” the man insisted. He had a smile that always led Draco to believe he knew more than he let on. “You will be surprised.” 

“How do you make a living from this?”

“I make enough to live the sort of life I want.” The man shrugged. “If I needed more perhaps I’d do something else. But I love to paint, to draw, to take life and recreate the way I see it. Happiness, pain, anger, it all ends up on the canvas. There is power in it, and catharsis, which is enough for me.”

Draco admitted, “I don’t much know the sort of life I want.”

“Well how do you plan to figure it out if you keep running away?”

Draco scoffed, “I’m not running away from anything.”

The man laughed and said, “You are a terrible liar.”

“Haven’t had much need for lies. If I smile and say I am okay, most everyone sees me that way.”

“It’s on you then, isn’t it? You’re dishonest so they can’t see the truth in you.”

Draco thought about that for days. Penelope had said something similar months earlier, and he began to reconsider his decision to move, to cut everyone off for awhile. 

**Loss of Control**

Seven weeks in, Draco started to have moments of intense dizziness. One day, he sort of fell into a chair and closed his eyes. He opened them to find it was dusk, but he fell asleep just after noon. He shrugged it off as an unexpected nap. It was normal to be tired when he wasn’t eating. He had been used to it before, he would acclimate to it again. The “naps” increased in frequency as time went on, but he brushed it off as exhaustion. It would fade.

When fireworks went off on Bastille Day, it occurred to Draco that he missed his birthday. He was twenty-seven. He had been twenty-seven for more than a month but didn’t feel older. He did not feel much of anything. He watched the sun rise from his balcony a few days later and the emptiness inside him was more like a phantom weight than a hollow stomach.

That morning began like any other. He walked downstairs and made his way to the market. He purchased a few plums but once he stepped away from the stall, the world tilted on its axis. Draco stumbled to the right for a few steps before he regained his bearings. He shook his head and turned back toward the flat. Draco made it about ninety degrees before his eyes rolled up into his head and the world went black.

**.oOo.**

He pried his eyes open and immediately squeezed them shut against bright white light. For a brief moment Draco thought he was dead and relief washed over him. The fight was over and he did not care that he lost. Then the din of conversation hit his ears and Draco realized he was in hospital.

_Fuck._

The nurses told Draco he fainted back at the marketplace. “Malnourishment” was the diagnosis. Not that he needed to hear it.

“When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

“Tuesday,” Draco lied. He hadn’t eaten a meal in months, but Tuesday seemed like as good a guess as any.

The nurse frowned and said, “It’s Sunday.”

He was released that afternoon and immediately went home to shower. He stepped beneath the scalding water, hoping to feel something, _anything._ When the emptiness didn’t fade, Draco turned the shower handle to a reasonable warmth and began to wash up. There were only two options: forward and backward. 

He chose to go forward.

It began with his hair. The layers looked quite nice, though they needed to be trimmed. Draco used some mousse to give it volume then touched up his beard. Looking back, he had done every damn thing he could to avoid looking like himself. What would Penelope call that; a “coping mechanism?”

Draco pulled his nicest robe from the closet and surveyed himself in the mirror. He looked like he used to. He looked like the very same Draco Malfoy who walked into Penelope’s office that first day, begging to be helped. He strode into the one restaurant where he was guaranteed a seat.

Blaise opened Assiette Verte a few years earlier to experiment with fruits and vegetables. The furniture and decor were all wood and earth tones, a very soothing environment. It wasn’t meant for romance or business, it was a restaurant solely for the enjoyment of plant-based foods. They maxed the ninety-nine patron capacity from seven to eleven every evening. The maitre d's face lit up the moment Draco stepped through the door. Ignoring three parties in front of Draco, he shouted,

“Mr. Malfoy!”

Draco flushed bright red.

“I will let Mr. Zabini know you are here! He has been—”

“No!” Draco insisted. He walked to the front of the line and said, “Tomorrow, perhaps. Tonight I only want to be alone.” He shrugged. “Just sit me in the darkest corner you’ve got.”

He was placed at a table for two in the backmost corner away from the door and the kitchens. It’s where Blaise usually sat his least-favourite customers, but Draco did not want to be seen. He ordered wine and two plates. One squash stuffed with quinoa and a penne dish with tomatoes.

Draco stared at the squash in front of him and his stomach rumbled at the smell. Had he always been so hungry? Was this what it felt like? Draco dug in without another thought and it was delicious. He hardly came up for air until he washed down the dish with a glass of Riesling. 

Then he was crying again. Merlin’s bollocks, this was why he avoided food. He missed this the same way he missed Blaise, he missed Theo, and Hermione. Hell, he outright abandoned his godchildren. Draco wiped the tears from his eyes and ordered a glass of something stronger.

All for what? For the promise of being thin? Of being in control of something. Of one goddamn thing. Just one. 

He savored the penne; it was the first dish Blaise made for this place. Draco wanted it to be one of his firsts, as well: the first plate he’d eat with a clear head. Tears flowed freely down his face but he didn’t care. He made a mistake and needed to start over. Whether he would have any friends when he got back remained to be seen, but Draco resolved to appreciate them more. Not by doing things for them, but by making himself into a friend they would be proud to have. 

No more counting. No more skipping. No more excuses.

“DRACO!”

He turned to see Blaise half-running between tables, knocking over more than one glass on the way. So much for privacy. Draco took a deep breath and wiped away tears with his sleeves. He stood up just as Blaise crashed into him. It was half-hug, half-tackle as Draco held onto the back of Blaise’s robe just to remain upright.

“Oh my GOD!” Blaise shouted into Draco’s ear. He cradled the back of Draco’s head in one hand and said, “Oh my GOD, I hate you, you fucking bastard, I hate you so, so much.”

“I know.”

“I got back from Australia and everyone was in a panic, thinking you’d gone and offed yourself this time.” Blaise managed to cling to Draco even tighter. “All I could think was that I did not do enough, that I should have tried harder somehow ...”

“No,” Draco said. “It was never about you. I couldn’t see where my life was going anymore.”

“Theo is in a right state, each of us blaming ourselves, thinking we missed something.”

“I wasn’t ready to watch you get married,” Draco admitted, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You found what I always wanted. All I could think about was how much I will never deserve any of it, so I ran away.”

“No, of course you will find it. You deserve love and if I could have given it to you I would have. If you were not ready you should have told me! Dean and I would have waited!”

“Yes, you would’ve,” Draco agreed, “which is the problem. I cannot hold you back from living your life. Even Hermione was different around me, softer. I don’t want to change people.”

“You are not changing us, we make our own choices.”

“And I made mine. I am coming home.”

“Damn right you are, right bloody now.”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I can’t come back yet.”

“We have been looking for you for _months!_ ”

“Really?” Draco asked, pushing Blaise away. “I am in Paris! This is the first place you should have searched!”

“I came here!” Blaise shouted back. “Looking for you! My staff was told to let me know the moment they spotted you, but you hardly look like yourself. Did you even want to be found?”

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “I don’t know what I wanted, but it was not this. I never wanted to hurt anyone, I wanted to disappear and get my shit together. Instead I fell apart.”

“Blaise looked Draco up and down then said, “You look like hell.”

“Real nice pep talk.”

“I am not here to make you feel better. I am here to bring you home.”

Draco promised, “I’ll be home soon.”

“That’s what your note said three months ago!”

“Give me a few days, Blaise. You know where I am, so hold off.”

“No. I am not walking away so you can go drown yourself in Puking Pastilles and a bottle of Firewhisky! Do you have any idea the hell you put us through?”

Draco shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Then prove it. _Come home._ ”

“Just a few days, Blaise. Please.”

Blaise looked Draco in the eyes and said, “If you promise to come home, I will give you three days.”

“I promise.”

**.oOo.**

Thursday morning at 9:59, Draco took the three familiar steps up to the bright blue door and found Penelope Clearwater waiting for him on the other side.

“You came back.”

“Starting over,” Draco admitted. “Figured this is as good a place as any.”

Penelope nodded toward her office and said, “Follow me.”


	20. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco comes home, and it's a LOT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place from July 19th-20th, 2007.
> 
> TW: Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: Insensitivity Toward Suicidal Ideation

Draco stared at the chair.

All those weeks of opening up, of trying to get better, and he ended up back where it began. The progress he made had been erased because he was weak. Who was to say this time wouldn’t end just the same?

“Sit down.”

Penelope never told him what to do. Draco hesitantly complied, wondering if this was the new normal. It was distressingly familiar, sitting there trying not to completely fall to pieces in the face of Penelope’s understanding.

“Why did you come back?”

“I dunno.”

“This will be much easier if you don’t lie to me, or to yourself,” Penelope said. No matter how well she schooled her face into a neutral expression, she could not keep the frustration out of her voice. “So why have you come back?”

“None of it felt real,” Draco admitted. “Even now, looking back it feels like I dreamt all those months. The days run together like time meant nothing. Hell, maybe it didn’t. Nothing meant anything. I didn’t deserve to live and didn’t want to die. I wanted to be alone but was angry no one found me. There was so much inside of me and none of it made any sense, so I tried to shut it up. Tried to run away but being alone just made everything louder.”

“What did your friends think?”

“Dunno. I dropped my luggage at the manor and came straight here.”

“Are your parents happy to have you back?”

“Dunno.” Draco shrugged. “My departure was easier for them. I can’t sneeze in France without my mother hearing about it. My friends, though, I haven’t spoken to any of them except Blaise. And ...” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

“And?”

“They thought I was suicidal.”

Penelope asked, “Were you?”

“NO!” Draco insisted. “No, I ... I don’t think so.”

“You never considered it?”

“Not outright, no. I am exhausted from living like this, so I want to stop living like this. I keep finding new ways to do it, new excuses, anything but this. Anything but walking into this office once a week hoping that I did enough to get better. I keep hoping recovery is just over the horizon and all I have to do is get there. It is too far away, Penelope; I do not have enough fight in me.”

She was quiet for a long time, staring down at her blank parchment like the answer would appear if she waited long enough. Draco didn’t need her to say anything. He recognized disappointment when he saw it.

“Anorexia is about perception; you want to control how the world sees you. You are too much of your father or a traitor or any of the number of things you mentioned during our weeks together. Instead of embracing your actions and moving forward, you refuse to forgive yourself. Until you do, until you look yourself in the mirror and say, ‘I am happy being Draco Malfoy,’ this will keep happening. Every relapse is a crack in the stone, and you will fall apart if you aren’t careful.”

Draco insisted, “There is no reason for me to be happy like this.”

“Then give yourself one.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This has never been about food, Draco. It is about how you see yourself and how you do not believe you can be the man you want to be. I have seen firsthand the people who have given up. You have more than enough strength to get through this. As a child soldier, a scapegoat for an entire country, a forgotten son, you survived it all. You need to acknowledge the strength it took to make it this far.”

“But I ran away.”

“Why?” asked Penelope. “What prompted you to do it?”

“Blaise’s wedding was rather emotional and I was not prepared for it.” Draco struggled to keep himself together enough to explain how heavily it impacted him. “Dean deserves someone who loves him like Blaise does. He’d empty his Gringotts vault for Dean. I spent the entire ceremony thinking about how I will never get married, never deserve that sort of love. Then Astoria crashed the reception and asked to come back into my life.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I asked her to walk away because I knew I could not say no on my own. I look at her and I _want_ her to fix me. I want to let her make me into someone everyone else will believe is worthy of a woman like her. However, that is not who I am, and it will always end in disaster. When I asked her to walk away, she did. It was the best thing she has ever done for me.”

“See?” Penelope asked with a slight smile. “You have already begun to set boundaries for yourself. What you can and cannot handle on your own.”

“Well I ruined the day,” Draco replied.

“Did you?”

“I moped through half the ceremony and my ex-girlfriend showed up in the middle of the reception!”

“It sounds like you ruined the day for yourself,” Penelope offered, “but not for anyone else. You need to learn that your emotions are not universal.”

“Oh.”

“While you were recovering from the conversation with Astoria, what did your friends do?”

“Theo told me to push it aside and try to remember the good parts of the day. Hermione wouldn’t leave me alone for more than two minutes at a time. Pansy was ready to punch Astoria if I asked her to.”

“They showed concern for you,” Penelope said, “but did they ever say they hadn’t enjoyed themselves? Did anyone ever tell you the day was ruined?”

“No.”

“Because it wasn’t.”

“But—”

“When you didn’t show up for your appointment on Thursday, I had Lila send an owl to your emergency contact. (Which is Theo Nott, but we can explore that in another session.) Theo hadn’t seen you and said Blaise was on his honeymoon. He looked for you at Malfoy Manor, and when he didn’t find you there he contacted everyone he knew might have seen you. Parkinson, Lovegood, Truman, Granger, so many people ... They all care about you.”

“And I frightened them,” Draco snapped. “I never meant to make them worry, I just wanted time alone. I wanted to be away from them so I could concentrate on getting better _on my own._ ”

Penelope said, “You can’t do this by yourself. We have spoken about it time and time again—”

“I distinctly remember you telling me I cannot live my life for other people!”

“Correct. You cannot let the needs of others dictate your entire life, but you can’t get well without support.”

“Well which is it?!” shouted Draco. “I need their support, but I can’t make sacrifices for them? I need them to help me, but cannot inconvenience them. I need them in my life, but I can’t need them. Please, explain how the bloody hell any of this makes sense!”

“Are you finished shouting at me?” Penelope asked, sounding more like Draco’s mother than his therapist.

He nodded.

“You are correct that you cannot live your life exclusively for other people. When I asked what you saw in the future, you mentioned Blaise’s wedding and helping to raise your godchildren. You had no goals for yourself outside of making people see you as something more than Lucius Malfoy’s son. You are always thinking about the rest of the world, and even after weeks of trying to pry it out of you the only goal you could muster for yourself was falling in love. Which, not to beat a dead Hippogriff, requires _another person_.”

“I see your point.”

“You also need support to get through this. Life will always leave you behind if you let it, and right now someone needs to keep pushing you forward. You can’t do it yourself, Draco, and I think you understand that now.”

“So ...”

“So you ask your friends for help.”

“It seems selfish.”

“Is it?” asked Penelope. “Are you being selfish asking them for help, or by staying away? Isn’t it worse to make them worry for weeks on end? Is it not more selfish to hide away and cut them out of your recovery? They are your _friends_ , your _family,_ and they are the only thing standing between you and relapse.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Half an hour ago you told me that, ‘Being alone made everything louder.’ You hear Astoria Greengrass’s voice in your head, yes?”

“Frequently.”

“The more you isolate yourself, the louder her words will get. All the nasty things she said to you, those things you believe about yourself to be true, will get louder and stronger unless you have someone to drown her out. Lots of people, a whole chorus of them to tell you how loved you are. Because you are not unlovable, Draco, and you are not half a man. You have a strength that people aspire to.”

Draco shrugged and said, “I know you think that, but I don’t believe you. I can’t believe anyone would ever look at me and say, ‘That is the sort of man I want to be.’”

“After three months of missed appointments, I know you don’t believe me. There is a difference between the man you are and the circumstances you’ve landed in. No one wants to be Anorexic, Draco, but they all want to believe they are strong enough to pull themselves out. Of course, no one can pull their own weight through this, they need help. Since you came back to me, since you came back at all, I know you have the strength to ask.”

Draco laced his fingers together and sighed. He hadn’t thought of that before, separating himself from his circumstances. Perhaps Penelope was right and there was no shame in expecting help from his friends.

“What if they hate me?”

“By definition, friends don’t hate each other. But I think you will be surprised at how much anger will be overpowered by the simple act of you showing up.”

“Okay.”

“That’s your goal for the week.”

Draco frowned.

“I don’t understand. What is my goal for this week?”

“Show up next week.” Penelope smiled softly and said, “We start small, and the only thing you need to do right now is show up.”

**.oOo.**

Draco walked into his office the following morning and admitted he missed it. He sat in his chair and opened the lower-left drawer to pull out the photo album. He flipped through it and smiled at photos he’d forgotten about.

There was a photo of him, Theo, and Blaise on Pansy’s fifth birthday. They were covered in icing and cake crumbs, smiling at each other like there was nothing in the world to worry about. The photo of him and Pansy with their trunks outside the Hogwarts Express warmed his heart a bit. He stashed the album away and spent the rest of the morning then quite a bit of the afternoon trying to catch up on everything he missed.

His mother knocked on the door sometime after five.

“May I come in?”

Draco shrugged and grumbled, “Sure.”

“May I bring a guest?”

Draco looked up and watched Theo run into the room. He stopped on the other side of Draco’s desk and smiled. 

“You’re really back!”

“I am.”

“This is ...”

“I know.”

Theo opened his mouth to say something, but ended up tossing his hands in the air when he came up empty. Draco felt exactly the same. He stood up and walked around the desk to hug Theo as tightly as he could.

“Penelope said you were frantic. I never meant for you to worry.”

“Lately I’m always worried about you, mate.” Theo’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “Not gonna lie and pretend I don’t hate you for leaving me in the dark. But I know this is my fault because I pushed you too hard at the party. Shoulda given you space to process things but I really thought you needed to be present for it all. Remember it all.”

“It’s not all on you,” Draco insisted. “I should have known better than to go to the reception. Food, Weasley, and all those emotions were an explosion waiting to happen.”

“Did you think about ending it all?” Theo asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but I want to know how worried I should be and what I need to watch out for.”

“Never,” Draco revealed. “I’d never leave without every intent to come back.”

“That’s good.”

“I can’t tell you what to look for, though, because I don’t know. By the time I realize something is wrong, I am already drowning.”

Theo pulled away and said, “Then I’ll have to do better.”

“Who did you get to watch the twins while I was gone?”

“Um,” Theo shuffled his feet and crossed his arms, as though he didn’t want to answer the question. “Hermione volunteered the first week and she sort of kept coming back.”

“As if Sebastien needed another reason to love her more.” Draco tried for a laugh but it fell flat. “I’d like to see them.”

“How about right now?” Theo asked. “They’ve missed you. But, I dunno, maybe fix your hair a bit.”

“I know,” Narcissa chimed in from the doorway. “I told him he will not be able to braid with those layers. He looks like one of those people who live on the Knight Bus.”

“Thank you, mother,” Draco said with a groan. “I will visit Gabriel tomorrow and fix it up.”

“Come to the house in a half hour?” Theo asked. “Please.”

“Of course.”

**.oOo.**

“SURPRISE!”

Draco was accosted the moment he stepped into Theo’s living room. His friends congregated around a table with a fruit arrangement that spelled out “Welcome Home!” They were all there for him, smiling, welcoming him back.

Pushing back tears, Draco asked, “What is all this?”

Dean said, “We just want to remind you that you’re not alone.”

“You don’t need to run away from us,” Pansy added. “We’re here for you. Also for the cake Blaise has stashed in the back.”

Draco laughed and asked, “Who wants hugs first?”

They came out for him like Penelope said they would. Tracey went first, then she gave way to Pansy, then Romilda and Gabriel. 

“Malfoy, I am free tomorrow afternoon. You and me have a date with some scissors.”

Scarlett and Sebastien refused to let Draco go, hugging him for a solid minute. He held it in as long as he could, but he had missed them so goddamn much. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about them in Paris because if he had he would’ve run straight home. Seeing them again brought it all back, the pain and guilt over leaving them. 

Eventually he got to Blaise, who refused contact.

“I am glad you are back.”

Draco replied, “Me too. I visited Penelope yesterday and she put everything right again.”

“Everything?” Blaise asked. “You sure about that?”

“You are right,” Draco said, chastened. “I fucked up and should have let you know it was too much for me. I could have come to you but I was ashamed and hurt and a million other things that do not matter now. I am sorry.”

“I am very angry at you,” Blaise said, his voice rising in frustration, “but I will get over it because you are my best friend and will always be my best friend. Take a look around, Draco. All your closest friends are here except one.”

Draco looked for the face he didn’t want to admit was missing. When he couldn’t find her, he just stared at the floor. He hadn’t expected her forgiveness but it still stung.

“She stood up for you. When we all thought you had gone off to kill yourself she never believed it. She had no reason to have faith in you, but she did. All those Thursdays and Saturdays she spent getting to know you, becoming your friend against the better judgement of everyone around her. And how did you repay her? You fucking _left_ , Draco! You left!”

The entire party had stopped to watch this conversation play out.

“I have spent the first months of my married life worried about you! Theo took weeks off just to coordinate a search because your parents refused to tell us where you were! Some bollocks about you ‘living your own life’ as if your actions do not affect us all. Pansy guilted herself into thinking if she had not been so hard on you about Astoria, perhaps you would have come to her instead of leaving outright.”

“Blaise,” Pansy warned, “perhaps this is a conversation for a different time.”

“No,” Blaise insisted, “I think now is a great time. He needs to understand that he left us all like we were nothing to him! How can any of us trust you not to do this again six months or even a year from now?”

Draco dug his fingernails into his palm. Blaise had the right to be angry and he should not say anything he could never take back. He took a deep breath and gathered his words.

“You are right. I left, and I did it because I felt like I was dragging you down with me. However, I will point out that the only one of you with the gall to ask what was wrong with me was Astoria! Next time you wonder why I was fucked-up enough to leave all this behind, remember that while I left you for three months you let me suffer for _ten years._ I forgave you for that, so perhaps you could show me the same kindness.”

Blaise’s expression softened as he said, “Draco, I know—”

“I am going to get some air.”

Draco ran to the front door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. He closed his eyes and choked back a sob. Merlin’s arse, he was so tired of tears. 

“Oh.”

Draco jumped at the voice and looked down to see Hermione at the bottom of the stairs. He wiped his face and tried to smile. 

“Didn’t realize you were here.”

“I wasn’t sure I would come in,” she admitted.

Neither of them said anything for several long, awkward seconds. Then Hermione took the first step, and the second, and the third. Draco didn’t know what to do while she was standing in front of him. He was so confused, all he wanted to do was cry. This was exactly what he was trying to tell Penelope, it was _too much_. 

Then Hermione hugged him. Draco wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her close. He tried to say so many things. _I am sorry I left you. Thank you for being here when I couldn’t be. That’s why I let you into my life so quickly; I trusted you._ But none of that seemed appropriate, so he just held her tight until she stepped away. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Hermione put one hand on his cheek and said, “I missed you so much, but I don’t like the beard.”

“No one does. I thought it helped me look less like Draco Malfoy.”

“Why would you want that?” Hermione asked. 

She pulled her hand away and Draco took a moment to really look at her. Hermione had worn a beautiful purple dress and heels that made her tall enough to meet the bottom of Draco’s chin. It struck him as odd, since it looked more like a date dress than a welcome-home-you-big-prat outfit. 

“Sorry, what was the question?”

“Never mind.” She licked her lips and said, “I missed you.”

“So you said.”

“Well ... What else is there to say?”

“Thank you.”

“What the hell am I thanking you for?” Hermione asked. “ _You_ left, which I did not ask you to do.”

“No, I was thanking you for watching the twins while I was away. Theo mentioned it earlier and I know Sebastien must have loved having you around. Also thanking you for not believing I had run off just to ... Well, you know.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Your friends were so caught up in their worry they weren’t thinking logically. If you were going to kill yourself in Paris you would have jumped off the Eiffel Tower or hanged yourself from a painting in the Louvre. You are a melodramatic git and silence has never been your style.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say. It was an accurate assessment, but not a flattering one. 

“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” she realized aloud. “I am so angry at you that I’m saying the wrong things.”

“Blaise yelled at me on your behalf, but if you would like to give it another go I am well-practiced.”

“What made you leave?”

“The wedding.”

“What about it?”

“All of it. Watching Blaise get the one thing I want and will never have. I keep telling people that and no one understands. I always knew I was unlovable, but never quite felt it until I saw it happening right in front of me. As pathetic and hopeless as it is, I only ever wanted a family. To do what my father never could; raise a son to be proud of.”

“You must be so broken,” Hermione realized, “to hate yourself this much. To think your father shouldn’t be proud of you.”

“Why would he be?”

“Look at the way you are with Scarlett and Sebastien. Those kids love you like a parent, and you love them as your own. Despite your father’s best efforts, you treat those children with the compassion of someone who knows the hell of a life without it.”

“I do love them,” Draco insisted, “but it is not the same. Everyone sees my father when they look at me, but I want to be better. I want to fall in love and raise my own child so I can prove to the world that I can be what he never was: a good father.”

“I think you want to prove it to yourself,” Hermione guessed. “Prove that he didn’t ruin you.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

She quipped, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh, that’s how it is, Granger?”

“Always how it is with you, Malfoy.”

There was a brief pause before Draco asked, “Has your unnamed suitor finally come to his senses and asked you out?”

Hermione’s face fell.

“He still wasn’t ready and I decided to wait.”

Draco wondered, “What is he waiting for?”

“God only knows.”

“Seriously, Hermione, you are the most powerful wizard on the continent. If he cannot see the amazing, understanding, frustratingly logical person that you are then he does not deserve you.”

“He sees it and doesn’t believe he deserves me.”

_Wait._

Before Draco could give it much thought, Hermione shoved a rectangular box into his chest. The green wrapping paper was patterned with silver broomsticks, and a card was taped beneath the bow.

“It was your birthday present but you weren’t here.”

Draco insisted, “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“It’s what friends do,” replied Hermione. “Birthday presents and homecoming parties.”

“Should I open it?”

“No, don’t open it in front of me. I can’t watch you read the card; it’s sappy.”

“Then we can go back inside.”

“I think you should leave.” Hermione took Draco’s hand and said, “I knew the reception would push you to your limit. I didn’t stop you from speaking to Astoria even though I knew it would end horribly. I’ll tell everyone I made you leave so they won’t blame you.”

“As if it will matter. By now they are accustomed to me disappearing.”

Hermione glared at him and said, “Draco Malfoy, if you ever disappear again I swear on Merlin’s grave that I will stuff my wand so far up your arse they will need a map to get it out.”

Draco scrunched his nose in disgust.

“That is a very vivid, painful picture.”

“It hurt,” she replied. “You leaving like that? It hurt me. Please don’t do it again.”

Draco pulled her in for another hug and pressed a feather-light kiss to her cheek.

“I won’t disappear again. I promise.”

“Good.”

Hermione turned toward the door and Draco said, “I missed you, too, you know.”

“Good.”

**.oOo.**

When he got home, Draco tore into his present. He smiled when he realized it was a framed photograph. It was a candid shot of him, Hermione, and the twins in Diagon Alley. Sebastien held Hermione’s hand while Scarlett rested against Draco’s hip. Hermione was laughing at a joke Draco couldn’t remember, and it was the happiest Draco could remember being in a long while. 

> _Draco,_
> 
> _I don’t know when you’ll be back, but I miss you every Thursday. Then I miss you every Saturday. For some reason, I think about you on the other days of the week, too. A photographer sent me a copy of this picture and I thought you should have it._
> 
> _Your Friend,_
> 
> _Hermione_

He placed the photograph on his desk and frowned.

“ _My friend._ ”


	21. When I Am Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally realizes he is the mystery suitor Hermione's been pining for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place from July 20th-21st, 2007.
> 
> CW: Scene of a Mild Sexual Nature

Draco knew it was wrong. 

Everything about his life was wrong, though, so why was this any different? If his sixteen-year-old self knew what he was about to do, he would have all sorts of words for it. Disgusting. Indecent. _Depraved._ Draco believed he had left all those notions behind, but the hate had only been redirected inward. It lingered.

He pulled the duvet back and slipped underneath, pulling it up to his shoulders. He forced down his trousers and pants in the same motion then tossed them onto the floor. Draco kept his shirt on; didn’t need to see any more of his body than was necessary. He stretched, arched his back a little, then fell down with a heavy sigh. The sheets were cool against his legs as he stared up at the ceiling. A familiar pressure began to build in his stomach, as heat made its way south to settle between his thighs.

It was impossible to ignore how different some of his memories felt. Each of Hermione’s touches held a different meaning. Hermione looping her arm around his, a possessive hold when he was talking to Gabby, always insisting on a hug before he left. Perhaps she was just as touch-starved as he was.

Her party dress was fairly modest, so Draco’s imagination did most of the work when he finally took himself in hand. Seeing her after all that time, he thought of Hermione in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before. His body shook at the sudden friction, a feeling that had been long-absent. His dick was hard from thinking back to how Hermione felt pressed up against him, her tits pressed against his chest during every hug. Her fingers clutching at the back of his robe ... Draco squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as the pressure continued to build. Release would not take long.

Merlin’s fucking arse, though, it felt wrong. Thinking of Hermione like this when they hadn’t even spoken about their relationship. What it was and what it could be. She was so much more than her tits and full lips and those wide eyes that always seemed to see too much ... It was wrong to think of her like this, to wonder what it would be like to have her legs wrapped around him.

Draco moaned and hastily groped for his wand to cast _Muffliato_ at the door. The last thing he needed was someone hearing him groan Hermione’s name mid-wank. Draco couldn’t help himself; his body reacted vigorously to thoughts of Hermione in various states of undress. He had seen loads of faces in his fantasies throughout the years. Gabby featured more than Draco would like to admit, and Blaise even more so. There had been many one-nighters but they all ran together in his mind. Right then, all Draco’s mind could conjure was Hermione’s legs braced on either side of his torso as she sank down onto his dick. He practically threw his neck backward into the pillow, increasing the pressure of his fingers around his cock.

How easy it would be to let her take control, to use his body in a way no one else had. To let her _enjoy_ it. Hermione would take what she wanted, hold Draco down against the bed and move her hips until he hit the perfect spot inside her. Draco groaned low in his throat as precome dripped from the tip of his cock. 

His thoughts could no longer follow a linear path, instead only catching brief moments conjured by his imagination. Hermione’s fingernails scratching trails down his back. Hermione glancing down to the space where their bodies were joined together between them. It was the thought of Hermione’s lips around his dick that did him in.

Draco spit into his hand a couple times before wrapping his fingers around his cock again, squeezing until it hurt. He stroked once, then twice, base to tip, fingers lingering at that spot on the underside of the head that always made him see stars. Draco closed his eyes and spread the fluid around, continuing to work his cock between his fingers. What he wouldn’t give for it to be Hermione doing this, for her to _want_ to do it. 

A few more firm strokes, Draco tugged at his balls and came seconds later. Come coated his chest underneath the duvet. Draco’s mind was blank as he finally opened his eyes. His body continued to shake for several moments; denied release for months and making up for lost time. He laid there boneless, a limp mess hidden beneath the blankets. 

Shame crept in, swallowing him a little bit at a time. Something had to be truly wrong if he was afraid to look at himself during a wank. If he couldn’t look at himself naked, why the hell would anyone else want to? Hermione Granger sure as hell wouldn’t. Draco vanished the remnants of his activities with a mumbled, _Evanesco._ He fell asleep soon after, worn out from the day and thoughts of tomorrow.

He fell asleep to the memory of Hermione’s lips, feather-light against his cheek.

**.oOo.**

“You left again.”

Gabriel Truman wasted no time. Gabriel whisked him into a chair the moment Draco stepped into Weeoanwhisker’s. They were quiet while he placed the cape around Draco’s neck and situated his supplies. As Gabriel began to wet Draco’s hair, he wondered whether this was a good idea.

“My biggest fear coming back was that you all would hate me. That you would blame me for running away. Of course, the only one of you who did is my best friend.” Draco stared at the first bits of hair that had fallen to the floor. “I am supposed to see him after this, but I cannot find a good reason to go.”

“Are you planning to cut Zabini out of your life?”

“No, but—”

“Then there is your reason.” Gabriel did not pause his work as he spoke. “All of us were angry, having worried about you for months, but we love you. You are an important part of this community so we forgave you and we should have done more for you. But Blaise ... Draco, mate, his wedding sent you into a relapse so bad you fled the country. How is he meant to cope with that?”

Draco whined, “I told him it was not his fault.”

“And I can tell you that you’d look fantastic if you were three stone heavier, but will you believe me?”

Draco shook his head no and Gabriel groaned. 

“Did you just shake your head? Are you fucking kidding me, Malfoy? I am holding _scissors_ to your _hair._ ”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, shut it, we both know if I fucked it up you wouldn’t care. Just use it as another reason to hate yourself. I know how it works.” He sighed heavily. Draco could tell that wasn’t entirely about him; something was wrong. “Everyone took your disappearance hard, but Nott, Zabini, and Granger ... They had their own support group. I asked Romi why that would be, because she works for Granger and is good friends with Blaise. Him, I get, being your best mate he’d take it hard. Dean’s handling it like a goddamn angel and I swear to you, I’ve never met a better man.”

“I know,” Draco admitted. “Dean has always been insecure about being with Blaise because he is the most beautiful person on the planet. It has always made me laugh because ...” Draco trailed off. He hadn’t thought about the end of the war in a long while.

After several seconds of silence Gabriel asked, “Why?”

“My parents kept him in our fucking cellar for weeks! After the war, he forgave them without question. I have never known anyone so selfless. Blaise doesn’t deserve him and we all know it, but Dean never cared because Blaise makes him happy.”

“So why don’t you give it a go?”

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe you try forgiving Blaise.” Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t even blame him, to be honest. I know that if you run away again I won’t be here when you come back. I am still working through this with Romi and she is my priority; I can’t balance your shit, too. However, I know that if I got married and my wedding caused my best mate do what you did, I’d be angry at myself, at him, and the entire fucking world. Give Blaise another chance and I think he’ll come around.”

“Maybe.” Draco sighed and admitted, “It might be easier.”

“Everyone was on edge. Bill said Granger wasn’t quite the same. ‘Busier’ was the word he used, I think. Like she was trying to avoid thinking about you because if she stopped she’d fall apart.” Gabriel caught Draco’s gaze in the mirror for a moment. “It is putting a strain on her other friendships, you know. She has her own life and she tried to become part of yours.”

Draco almost nodded, but thought better of it. 

“She should not have done that.”

Gabriel agreed, “Probably not, but she did. Stepping up to take care of the Nott kids, keeping Blaise and Theo in check, Weasley losing his bloody shit after the wedding—”

“What?”

“I guess you couldn’t have heard. Some of her friends were under the impression you two were dating and it made things a little tense.”

“Tense?”

“Bill says Ron tried to lecture her about associating with you—”

“If there is one way to get Hermione to do something, lecture her about why she shouldn’t do it. She will show up with a ten-page report about why it is the most logical plan, complete with a foreword about why you’re a twit.”

“Apparently she gives as good as she gets. Granger told him to accept your friendship or piss off, and since Ron left her for one of her best friends he doesn’t carry a lot of weight on this matter. Bill thought it was hilarious.”

“It is funny,” Draco admitted, “the thought of her being interested in me.”

“Nott said you’d say that, but we’ve all got eyes, Malfoy. I have two of ‘em, myself, and they work just fine. The way Granger looks at you? If Romi was looking at another man like that I’d knock him on his arse.”

“We are friends.”

“Mhmm, a friend who doesn’t want you talking to your ex-girlfriends. A friend who nannies kids with you, defends you to her closest friends, takes you out twice a week ...”

“We are good friends, then.” Draco said, “When Romilda started to recover from this, she had you. There was none of the struggle trying to start a relationship while figuring out where she stood with herself, you know? If I wanted Hermione, and I am not saying I do—”

“You really don’t have to say it.”

“—The man I am now would not be the person she ends up with when this is over. It is not fair to drag her through this.”

“That’s an excuse.”

“A valid one, I think.”

“Let me try this a different way, then. What do you like about her?”

Draco thought about it for a minute. What did he like about Hermione? When had a tiny crush blossomed into full-on pining? She wasn’t exceptionally pretty, was judgemental about most things, and tended to speak before considering the impact of her words. Her fits of anger were bad enough to land her in therapy and she always believed she knew what was best for Draco. However, most times Draco hardly knew what was best for himself. And while her words may hurt, Granger wasn’t a liar. 

“I like that she takes up space.”

Gabriel paused his work to ask, “What the hell does that mean?”

“She is small,” Draco insisted, “but she takes up space. Her belief in her own power extends to the space around her.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to think of a better way to explain what he meant. “To Hermione, every problem has an answer and every situation can be handled. She has a presence about her that makes people take note and respect her. I have spent so much of my life trying to take up as little space as possible and she is the opposite. I admire that.”

“What a weird fucking answer,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “You are in so deep.”

Draco groaned, “I know. I can’t stop thinking about her and how I am not worth her time.”

“If you truly believed that, you would have told her to leave a long time ago.”

Draco conceded, “You’re right. I do think that one day, if I can make it through this, I could work up the courage to ask her out.” He paused to reassess. “Maybe.”

Gabriel hummed and warned, “She won’t wait forever.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, what are we doing about your beard?”

**.oOo.**

“You kept it.”

Hermione was sitting on Blaise’s front steps when Draco arrived. He was a bit late, not entirely convinced this was the right thing to do. He extended his hand to Hermione and she pulled herself into a standing position. She wore another nice outfit, a dress too nice for their usual Saturday activities.

“You look lovely today.”

“I have a date.”

That hit Draco harder than it should have. Isn’t this what he expected all along? Hermione finding her unnamed love, the Luckless to her Amata. Though Draco felt rather luckless at the moment. He took a deep, slow breath in and asked,

“Are you giving up on me?”

Hermione smiled.

“Finally figured it out, did you?”

“I wondered why my disappearance hurt you,” Draco admitted. “I wondered why our friendship means so much to us.”

Hermione stepped closer to him and wondered, “What answer did you come up with?”

“I believe our friendship matters because it could be something more.” Draco tugged lightly on one of Hermione’s curls and watched it spring back into place. “With Gabby, Blaise, and Astoria I was always concerned about maintaining the present. I had to keep pretending to be okay, even when I wasn’t. You give me a reason to look to the future.”

Hermione replied, “I am not going to wait for you anymore.”

“I won’t ask you to.” Draco sighed and took Hermione’s hands in his own. “But once I am through this, when I am better—”

Hermione dropped his hands and said, “I don’t need you to be better! It has never been about your eating disorder. You weren’t ready for a relationship!”

Draco frowned.

“Because I can’t eat.”

“Because you hate yourself!” She threw her hands in the air and grumbled some choice expletives. “I am not going to be with another man who expects me to balance their feelings while they forget about mine. I don’t need you to recover, I only ever needed you to _try_ , Draco. Try to accept yourself for who you are so I won’t have to do it for you.”

“If you were me, would you be able to accept me as I am?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “I want this so much it kills me. All I see in you is progress and strength, and your face is lovely when you haven’t got that awful beard. You used to be a complete arsehole to me, but now you’re just the cute guy who falls asleep on my sofa. You are my friend, Draco, because you understand pain. I think if we gave this a go you might be able to love me in a way Ron couldn’t. There is nothing I need to hide and I love that about you.”

Draco admitted, “I am terrified of relapsing. There is so much pressure to get better that it makes everything more difficult. My entire adult life has revolved around food; avoiding it, shoving too much into my face, purging it. If I give that up, Hermione, I don’t know the sort of person I will be.”

Without hesitation, Hermione said, “You will be the sort of man who does not care what the world sees in him. You will be the boyfriend who gets excited for my promotions and cares about what I do at work every day. And I know, without a doubt, that you will be a damn good father.”

Wow. Draco didn’t know quite what to do with that. It was everything he hoped to be, and there was Hermione fucking Granger standing in front of him saying he could do just that. Be the person at her side, if only he could see it in himself. There was a brief moment where they both smiled at each other before Hermione seemed to remember where they were. 

“Are they watching us through the window?”

He glanced over to see Blaise and Dean with their faces all but pressed against the glass. Draco laughed and hugged Hermione as tightly as he could. He would never understand how the hell he earned her friendship, but he was grateful to have it. 

“When I get well, Hermione, it won’t be for you. I have to do it for myself.”

“Good.”

“You can date and fuck whomever you want and I will not judge you. I do not expect you to be waiting in the wings for me, and I will understand if you give up. I have not done much to inspire confidence in my choices.”

Hermione asked, “You came back, didn’t you?”

“Granger, I will always come back for you.”


	22. Right Foot, Left Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tries to settle back into the life he knew, but that world isn't the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place July 21st-25th, 2007.

Blaise apologized.

Draco apologized again.

It was days and days of everyone insisting things were fine when they weren’t. Draco had so far to go in recovery that no one saw the light at the end of the tunnel. None of them wanted to say it aloud so they settled on, “It’s fine.”

Draco spent time with the twins and Hermione on Monday, or so Theo said. Draco was there to watch the twins, and Hermione was there to watch him. Draco wondered when he let control slip so far from his hands; whether he ever had control of his life at all. Hermione was dating other men. Draco was fairly certain his parents, Theo, and Blaise still believed he was suicidal. To top it all off, his godson could barely look at him.

Scarlett adapted to Draco’s return just fine, as though the past three months hadn’t happened. Sebastien, however, hadn’t forgotten. He clung to Hermione the entire day and refused to answer any questions Draco asked. Sebastien buried his nose in a book he couldn’t read and ignored Draco to the point that even Hermione tried to nudge him into conversation. 

It didn’t work.

Finally, about a half hour before Tracey was due home from work, Draco had enough. He sat Sebastien on the end of the dining room table and plopped into a chair so they were face-to-face. Hermione was watching Scarlett in the other room, but Draco knew she would listen in.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Sebastien shook his head.

“Please?” Draco asked. “I want to know.”

Sebastien crossed his arms and asked, “Are you gonna leave again?”

Draco shook his head and said, “No.”

“But Uncle Blaise said—”

“He was angry.”

“I’m angry, too!” Sebastien shouted back, his eyes wide and watery. “You promised to get better! You lied!”

“No, Seb, I _am_ getting better. I am just a little slow at it, is all. I will never lie to you. You and your sister are more important to me than anyone in the world. I would do anything for you.”

Sebastien’s face was red and splotchy as he began to cry.

“B-but Uncle Blaise said ... And daddy said you died. You wanted to leave and die and I missed you so much and you promised you’d be better! You promised!”

“I know.” Draco took Sebastien’s hands in his own. “My illness was worse than I knew and I got scared. You know how frightened you are of Hippogriffs?”

Sebastien wiped his nose and grumbled, “Yeah.”

“What would you do if you saw a Hippogriff?”

“Run away.”

“That is what I did. I was scared and thought something bad would happen if I stayed. So I ran away.”

“You were stupid,” Sebastien said. He wiped his eyes and looked away.

“Hey,” Draco placed one finger beneath Sebastien’s chin and asked, “what do we say about name calling?”

“Bad.”

“Sebastien Theodore Nott, you look at me right now and tell me what is wrong without calling me stupid.”

“YOU LEFT!” he shouted. He punched his tiny fists into Draco’s shoulder. “And you are stupid!”

Hermione peeked into the dining room to ask, “Is everything alright?”

Draco waved her off. He allowed Sebastien a few more punches before putting on the “stop fucking around” face Draco learned from his father. Sebastien immediately pulled away and scooted back on the table. It broke Draco’s heart to see the fear in Seb’s eyes. He remembered that feeling well.

“Apologize.”

“NO!”

Draco repeated, “Apologize.”

Sebastien grumbled, “‘M sorry.”

“For what?”

“Sayin’ you’re stupid.”

“Apology accepted.” Draco sighed heavily. “Do you remember how I was getting better?”

“Smiles. You were sick ‘cause you’re sad.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t find any smiles here. I thought that they were hiding somewhere else and I needed to find them.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yes, Seb, it was stupid because you are here. You and Scarlett always make me happy. I just couldn’t see it then. I was very sick and confused.”

“Mum told Dad you might leave again.”

Draco admitted, “Maybe I will. Sometimes people need to go away for a little while, but I will never leave without coming back. Malfoys always come back to the people they love, and that means you.”

Sebastien launched himself into Draco’s lap and gave him a hug. If only the rest of life’s problems were so easy to fix. Draco allowed himself a brief moment of honesty, acknowledging that his godchildren’s problems were a decent distraction from his own. Seb eventually left to play with his sister, but Draco continued to stare at a point on the wall. Tracey didn’t trust him to stay and neither had Blaise. He hadn’t said it outright, but the trust between them was too cracked, too fragile. 

Hermione sat in the chair next to Draco and said, “I could hear you thinking from the other room.”

Without looking away from the wall, he asked, “How was your date?”

“Awkward.”

Draco’s mouth twitched up for the slightest moment. A small victory.

“My parents set it up. He’s a Muggle, well-educated, gorgeous, and the son of one of their patients. He told me all about what he does for a living, but I couldn’t tell him much of anything. When I spoke about ‘the war,’ he assumed I meant Afghanistan, not Britain. How can I explain my life to someone without speaking about magic?”

“Easily enough.”

“Truly?” Hermione wondered. “How would you do it?”

“You are a high-ranking diplomat in the field of international relations. You experienced war when you were very, very young and it left you traumatised, as it did us all.”

“Some more than others.”

Draco finally looked at Hermione to ask, “Have I ruined everything?”

“How?”

“My friends will never trust me again. Hell, Theo has you here to make sure I do not run off while nannying his kids.”

Hermione insisted, “That is not why I’m here. We thought it would be good for the twins to have a transition where both of us are here. And your friends will come around.”

“I hope so.”

There was a long silence before Hermione rested her head on Draco’s shoulder.

“What you said to Sebastien was nice.”

“When it comes to godparenting I think of what my parents did to me and do the opposite. It tends to work.”

“You’re a natural at it.”

Draco felt himself blush.

“Truly,” Hermione said, “you handle children with the grace and kindness I only wish you could show toward yourself. And I am terrified of what I might be like as a mother.”

“Even if you were horrible at it, you would learn. Dunno if you know this,” Draco teased, “but you are quite good at learning things.”

Hermione laughed and Draco finally cracked a smile. For just a moment, everything in the world was right again. _Draco_ was right again, no more jagged edges and self-loathing. Just him, Hermione, and thoughts of a bright future. 

**.oOo.**

Draco hated Tuesday, some shit about schedules and his “unexpected absence” that Lucius used to keep him home. Draco spent the entire day going through the books, writing letters to past-due tenants, and convincing himself it was okay to eat lunch. His day revolved around that sandwich; hours before lunch spent dreading it, and the hours after spent regretting it.

He sent the last letter out at eight that evening. Draco was exhausted. After so many months of doing nothing but reading and walking and allowing himself to waste away, it was difficult to focus on any one thing. He dragged himself to the study door and flung it open. His eyelids were heavy, and keeping them open was far more pressure than it was worth. It would only take Draco twelve steps to get to his bedroom door, but he could lie down on the floor and drift off right there ...

“Is it true?”

Draco slowly turned right to face a portrait of his tenth-great grandfather. Brutus Malfoy had a deep frown permanently etched across his features and white hair that stood out from his head like he’d been on the receiving end of a Ventus Jinx. Draco let his shoulders slump as he asked,

“What?”

Brutus sneered downward and asked, “Is it true that my great-grandson is cavorting about with a _Mudblood?”_

Draco grimaced at the profanity.

“Who the hell told you that?”

“I hear them speak about it all the time, your parents. They say you _pine_ for her, and I can see the longing in your eyes even now.”

Draco shook his head and insisted, “That is none of your bloody business.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” Brutus shouted back. “I did not work my entire life for this family only to have its lineage muddied by your insatiable cock!”

Draco’s exhaustion vanished in favour of something new, something familiar. He recognized the feeling: rage. It was hot, boiling in his chest. Before he realized what he was doing, he had his fingers on the underside of the frame as he tried to pull it off the wall.

“Oh-ho, it’s a Permanent Sticking Charm, boy! My presence will grace these halls long after you are gone.”

Draco continued to claw at the frame and pull as hard as his body would allow. Brutus continued to taunt him, call Hermione downright unspeakable names, and even directed him to the more sensitive parts of the frame just to prove the point. Draco remembered every time he hurled those words at Hermione in his youth and regretted every one of them. He counted his blessings she never truly wished to kill him, because he’d have been dead before the Dark Lord ever touched him if Hermione had been of a mind.

Draco shouted, “SHUT UP!”

“No.”

“SHUT UP ABOUT HER!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Draco planned to rip his bloody face off. He pulled out his wand and cast three different charms to rip, cut, and force the painting apart. None were successful. Draco racked his work-addled brain for the cause and came up empty.

“You should know this house has magical protections for the portraits. If you learned more about your heritage, boy, perhaps you would understand our family’s magic. Perhaps you would care more about protecting it!”

Hermione would know a spell strong enough. If she didn’t, she would create one. But Draco was not willing to run to Hermione with his problems. No, he couldn’t run to his friends for everything. Not the small things, but this? His fuckwit great-grandfather was a problem Draco could solve. 

“Who owns this house?”

Brutus Malfoy scoffed, “The Malfoy family owns this house.”

“And who is the Malfoy heir?”

No response.

“ANSWER ME!”

“Regrettably, boy, our lineage has been passed down to you.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, “it has been passed on to me. This is _my house_ and that means you answer to me.”

Brutus shouted, “I answer to no one!”

“I will make sure of that.” Draco grinned. “I believe it may be time for some redecorating.”

**.oOo.**

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

Draco kept his breaths steady as his feet hit the dirt. Running was about repetition and pacing. _Right foot. Left foot._ Breathe in for four steps, then out for four, and repeat. Bastien easily kept pace with Draco as they ran through the Marjoribanks Gardens. Or maybe Draco was keeping pace with Bastien; he couldn’t tell.

“Can’t believe I never thought to suggest this before. I like running with a partner! Did you kiss and make up with Blaise?”

“Always,” Draco huffed. He did not remember running being quite so hard on his lungs. “I patched things up with Hermione, too. Blaise was upset his wedding caused me to run off.” He paused to breathe. “Which, I suppose is a reasonable notion.”

“You think?”

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

“Obviously there were other factors at play, but I watched him get married and realized I will never have that. Technically, Blaise is the best relationship I have ever had.”

“Dunno about that. Granger was practically in your lap during dinner at the reception. Dean’s side of the table was whispering about it, thinking you two have been shagging in secret.”

“If I fucked Hermione I’d probably shout it to the world.”

“Oh, we’ll know when it happens.” Bastien grinned. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, mate.”

“And you don’t?” Draco shot back. “How is Padma?”

“Great, actually,” Bastien said with an even wider smile. “Theo thinks we won’t last three months. But he and Trace have been together since he was fifteen, so what the hell does he actually know about relationships?”

Draco shrugged and admitted, “More than me.”

“You sure?”

“Well, he knows more about being successful in them.”

“He knows what works and you know what doesn’t. Seems to me I’ve got the best in you both.”

Draco chuckled.

“Glad to know my failures are helpful.”

Through a loud huff of air, Bastien asked, “What is happening with you and Granger?”

“She is interested in a relationship once I don’t hate myself quite so much. Which, at the rate I am going, will be about seventy-five years from now.”

“I’d say forty.”

“I admire your optimism.”

“She does want it, though?” asked Bastien. “We all see it, the way she looks at you. The two of you always had a visceral reaction to each other; I don’t think any of us are surprised that coin has flipped ‘round to the other side. But she was different after you left, like she was searching for part of herself that had gone missing. Padma was worried about her.”

Draco frowned.

“It was my fault.”

“Who fucking cares whose fault it was? If you hadn’t left, what would have happened?” he asked. “Tell me the full truth, Draco. If you stayed after the wedding, what would have happened?”

Draco did not need to linger on that thought. He ran the scenarios in his head a dozen times in the days after Blaise found him in Paris. He knew exactly what would have transpired.

“I would have gotten worse. Relapsed here instead of Paris and guilted myself because none of you noticed. I would have felt even more guilty each time I saw the twins. Hermione would have been on my mind all the time and I would never have realized she was interested in me. That she saw me as anything more than a half-decent friend. All of that would have built up, I would have begun to vomit food again. My life would be out of control.”

Bastien summed it up with, “You’d be dead.”

“Probably.” Draco agreed. “I would probably be dead.”

“So I don’t blame you for leaving. Leaving us, but especially the twins, you would never do that unless it was what you needed to do. While none of them can see through their own pain and guilt, I’ll always see you, mate. If you left Hermione bloody Granger, it was what you needed to do. You are the most committed person I know. Hell, one of Theo’s kids is named after me and I only see them once or twice a month while you see them every week. Do not guilt yourself over doing what you needed to do to survive.”

Draco agreed, “You are right. I only wish I felt it. I mean, it is hard for me to feel anything at all. Opening myself up to forgiveness only leads to an onslaught of everything else. That terrifies me more than just about anything.”

“Right,” grumbled Bastien.

“What’s with the change in tone?”

“I keep wondering how I didn’t notice you had a problem. Not because you’re freakishly thin, but you used to be funny. It is why I liked you, you know? You made me laugh, cracked jokes, always turned dick drawings into upside-down butterflies or some other shit that looked so good no one could tell it was a cock. After the war you weren’t funny anymore. You hardly ever drew anything. I thought it was a reaction to everything happening in your life, that you’d just changed as a person. Never thought it’d be something like this.”

“I did change.”

“No,” Bastien insisted, “you didn’t. That smug bastard who made shitty jokes and turned dicks into art is still inside you. This disease hasn’t changed you, it just suppressed everything until you were little more than a walking corpse.” Draco winced and pushed Astoria’s voice to the back of his mind. “The man Granger needs you to be? He is in you somewhere, just a butterfly dick waiting to come out of his cocoon.” 

Draco laughed. They finished at five kilometres and he was completely drained. Doubled-over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.

“I don’t ... remember ... it being this hard.”

“Were you eating anything while you were away?”

Draco shook his head.

“Well you need energy to run. You spent months taking in as little energy as possible, which is why this is harder than you remember. Your body has to work its way up to your capabilities again.”

Draco shouted, “Is that not just fucking _great?!_ I am not even starting over, I am going from a worse point than I was at when this started.”

“Yeah,” Bastien agreed, “but you’re still going.”

“Again with the fucking optimism.”

“Someone has to have confidence in you, Draco, and you sure as hell are not going to be the one to do it. We both know you want to be the man Theo is, Blaise doesn’t know what the hell to do with you, and Granger is waiting for you to get your head out of your arse. You’re stuck with me and Pansy, and she doesn’t do optimism.”

Draco looked over at him and asked, “Why did you agree to do this?”

“To do what? Take you on my morning run?”

Draco nodded.

“Because you are my friend, and right now you aren’t the sort of man I know you can be.”


	23. Lonely Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel Truman's life falls apart, and it forces Draco to recognize something about his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: discussion of weight loss and additional symptoms of anorexia and bulimia.  
> 

Routine.

Penelope said step one was showing up. Over the subsequent weeks, Draco figured out step two: make a new routine. Or in his case, five of them: running six mornings a week with Bastien, nannying the twins on Monday, tea with Pansy on Tuesday, therapy and lunch with Hermione on Thursday, and lunch with Blaise and Hermione on Saturday. 

The portraits on the manor walls were not quite so easy to deal with. While the frames were attached with a Permanent Sticking Charm, the paintings were protected by magic older than the house itself. Draco recognized he was out of his depth and this project needed a curse-breaker. It was the middle of August when he found the perfect one.

Draco had run into Bill Weasley a few times in the decade since ... Arguably the worst moment of Draco’s life. (There was quite a contest for that title.) He and Weasley were amicable, Bill was the least-horrid of that lot, so Draco was not surprised when he replied to the inquiry via owl. 

Malfoy Manor was lonely, trapped in the middle of Wiltshire on too many acres to count. Shell Cottage was alone on a cliff by the sea, but its solitude was not lonely. It was a peaceful place; a house that had been made into a home. Draco wondered whether it was even possible, given all the horrors that happened within its walls, for the manor to feel that way.

The wind whipped at Draco’s face and dampened his hair as he looked out at the sea. What he wouldn’t give for a quiet life, or any life where he did not go to bed alone. The sky was a grey haze as twilight approached. The only sounds were waves crashing against the rocks and the wind as it whistled by. Draco pulled himself together, walked up to the front door and knocked. Bill Weasley opened the door a few moments later.

“Hello.”

Draco nodded and replied, “Hello.”

“Thank Merlin you’re here. He’s been crying on my couch for at least an hour.” Bill Weasley opened the door. “Come in. He’s insufferable and I don’t know what to do.”

Draco sidled past into the entryway and asked, “Who is he?”

“MALFOY!” 

Draco raised an eyebrow at the overenthusiastic shout coming from Bill Weasley’s dining room. It sounded like a rather liquored-up Truman. Draco followed Bill into the dining room where his assumption was confirmed. Gabriel Truman was sitting on top of the table with a half-empty bottle of Beetle Berry Whiskey at his side.

“Bill said you’d come! Bill’s brilliant like that. Always knowing things. Good job, Bill.”

Bill Weasley rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Thanks, mate.”

“Gabriel, why are you crashing my meeting?” asked Draco. 

He started to tear up as he revealed, “She dumped me.”

Draco frowned.

“Who dumped you?”

Gabriel glared at him and asked, “Who do you think?”

“But ...” That couldn’t be right. “Romilda loves you.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel bit down on his lip and stared at the green bottle in front of him. “She does, and according to Romilda that is the problem.”

Draco pulled out a chair and sat down, not sure if the world could ever be right again. If a couple like Gabriel and Romilda couldn’t work through this, what hope was there for him?

“I don’t understand.”

“She told me she was breaking up with me so I wouldn’t have to watch over her anymore. Wanted me to find someone to love who wasn’t so much work. But _why_ would she think that?! I _love_ her!”

Draco asked, “What brought this on?”

“A few weeks back we thought she might be pregnant. We are careful, and thank Merlin she wasn’t, but I have always been terrified of slipping up. No child is worth what it could do to her.”

Bill Weasley crossed his arms and asked, “How do you mean?”

Gabriel took one long swig from the bottle before saying, “Before me she felt empty. There wasn’t much love in her life and there was a giant hole inside of her, or something.” He waved his hands around as he spoke, sloshing the whiskey around. “She filled it with food, just stuffed herself full of it to pacify the void. Then she hated herself for it, terrified she’d get fat and then no one would ever love her. Skrewtshit thinking, you know. She’d vomit it up to the point her throat was so raw that she lost her voice. But I never put the pieces together, you know? She hid it well.”

“She’s better now, though?”

“Sort of.” Gabriel wiped tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “She doesn’t purge anymore, hasn’t in over a year. She eats on a schedule and doesn’t stray from it. But if something happened that altered our circumstances ... What if she vomited due to the pregnancy and it tossed her right back to the beginning? I know she would gain weight and hate herself again. I know it! She still does. When Romilda looks at herself and I look at her, we see two different people. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I love her, she still doesn’t see it.”

Draco insisted, “She just needs time.”

“How much?!” Gabe shouted. His eyes were red and he’d removed his lip ring. “How much longer am I going to do all the emotional lifting, tiptoeing around every potential problem?! I love her so goddamn much and she doesn’t see why.”

“You have stayed with her through all this, and that is what she needed,” Draco replied. “If there was anyone who helped me the way you helped Romilda, I would have the same concerns. She probably thinks you should have a better life. You should be with someone who does not need you at every meal, who isn’t terrified of sex, who can give you a family if you want one.”

“First, Romi is not terrified of sex. In fact, it’s probably the only part of our relationship that never suffered.”

Draco frowned. He’d heard that before.

“Second, I don’t give a fuck about kids. We can have them or not, I just want _her._ She’s so young and it kills me to see her struggle. By the time she finally loves herself, how many years will have gone by? Can I love her enough for the both of us? I dunno. I don’t bloody know.” 

Bill said, “It sounds like she doesn’t understand why you love her.”

“I love her because she fixes problems. That’s why Granger hired her, you know, because Romi fixes things. It’s easier to break into Gringotts than to get past Romi on a good day. She doesn’t trust anyone, keeps everything so close to her chest—and it’s a great chest—but she chose to trust me. I’m nine years older, but she has more ... more bloody fortitude than I could ever hope to have. She makes me laugh; she made my mum laugh, which I thought was impossible. And I want her so bad. I wanna marry her and shag her until my dick doesn’t work anymore.”

Draco tried to rein in his laughter, but Weasley snorted.

“What?” Gabriel asked. “I’m in love.”

“Perhaps you could tell her all those things you just said,” Bill offered. “Though, maybe tomorrow when you’re not drunk.”

“Weren’t you listening?! _She_ dumped _me._ ”

“Because she believes she is keeping you away from a life you want. If you explain why you want her in your life, Romilda will understand.”

“Will she?” 

“If she has been improving for the past year—”

“No, it doesn’t work like that!” Gabriel insisted. “Malfoy, here, knows better than just about anyone. I found out about Romi’s illness two-and-a-half years ago. When she told me, it was as if I saw her for the first time. I mean, really saw her.” Gabriel leaned forward to grab Draco’s hand. He nodded to the space between Draco’s thumb and pointer finger. “You can almost see bone.”

Draco clenched his jaw as Gabriel trailed one finger along his cheekbone.

“Sunken cheeks that hardly move when you smile.” Gabriel leaned back and grabbed the bottle. “Can guess what’s under your robe, too. You eat just enough to maintain, but if you take a deep breath I’d be able to see your ribs. Collar bones deep enough to hold some Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. You don’t notice things like that until you do. Then you can’t unsee them.”

“Wait, you’re saying Malfoy ...” Weasley looked at him and frowned. “Bloody hell.”

Draco stood up, took a deep breath, and told Gabriel, “That was not your information to reveal.”

“Sorry.” Gabriel stared into the bottle. “Just don’t understand how this happened. Why she’d rip my heart out like this.”

Draco wanted to be angry. He wanted to feel that rage and disappointment he felt every time he walked by his great-grandfather’s portrait. While that would be a sensible reaction to once again having his illness revealed without consent, Draco was scared. 

“Five years from now, Romilda does not want to look over at you and wonder if you would be happier with someone else,” Draco answered. “I feel the same way about Hermione. I would never want her to be with me like this. She deserves better, and Romilda probably thinks you can find someone better. This illness, it takes away your ability to see yourself properly. If she does not see what you see, how can she love what you love?”

Gabriel nodded and took another long swig of whiskey. Draco pushed the chair in and turned to face Bill Weasley. 

“I need help removing some paintings. That is why I came to request your services, but right now I want to go home. Please owl me with your preferred date and time.”

He nodded and Draco made for the cottage door.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy!” Gabriel shouted after him. 

Draco stopped, but did not turn around.

“You didn’t deserve what I said.”

Draco let his shoulders slump as he walked out the cottage door.

**.oOo.**

That Thursday, Draco began the session pacing around Penelope’s office. She tapped her dry quill against a blank piece of parchment, but said nothing. Merlin’s arse, it was aggravating, her sitting there and waiting. It was her job, but it was _annoying._

He huffed, “Aren’t you going to ask what is wrong?”

“I figure you will tell me when you are ready,” she answered. 

Draco sat in the chair and sighed.

“It’s Hermione.”

“What is Hermione?”

“The woman I fancy is Hermione Granger.” Draco ran a hand over his face, exasperated with himself, with Penelope, and this fucked-up disease. “I care for her deeply as a friend, but I want there to be more between us. She claims to be interested but things changed after I left.”

Penelope hummed, “How did your relationship change?”

“She dates now.”

“Was she not dating before?”

“No, I do not believe she was.”

“She grew tired of waiting for you?” asked Penelope. 

Draco nodded. 

“Does she know you reciprocate her interest?”

“I told Hermione shortly after I returned.” Draco smiled as he recalled, “She believes I can be the man I want to be. Hermione said I could be a good father, and that is the best compliment I have ever received. She said she would help me through recovery if I could assure her that she would not be the one pulling me forward. Her exact words were something like, ‘I will not be with a man who expects me to handle their emotions while they forget about mine.’ I do not understand my own reactions to things right now, so I figured a relationship was out of the question. However, it hurts to see her smile when she speaks about other men.”

“Hmm.” Penelope quickly jotted something on her parchment. “Is a relationship truly out of the realm of possibility?”

“For now,” Draco insisted. 

“But why?”

“Because Hermione does not want to end up like Gabriel!”

Penelope frowned and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Draco slumped backward and slid down in the chair.

“Romilda Vane broke off her relationship with Gabriel Truman a few days ago. He has been with her through the entire process. I can only imagine the hell of dealing with this for two-and-a-half years; watching the person you love learn to eat all over again.”

“Do you see yourself in Romilda Vane?”

“Of course I do! She is the only person I know with an illness like mine.”

“She gave you hope.”

“Gabriel gave me hope,” Draco countered. “If he could love her through all that, then maybe someone could love me, too. Now all I see are two broken hearts.”

“Alright, let’s look at this a bit differently.”

Draco groaned and Penelope leveled him with a reproachful glare.

“What part of this makes you feel that you cannot have a relationship right now?”

“All of it. I need to be fully well before I dive into that again, otherwise it will be a repeat of my experience with Astoria. I will not bring someone into this hellfire, _especially_ Hermione.”

Penelope asked, “Would it be the same? From my perspective, the problem was Astoria Greengrass’s reaction to your circumstances, not something inherently wrong with you.”

“She was only reacting to my deception.”

“She was in pain because you kept this from her, and she hurt you in retaliation. Now that you are going through this process with so many people willing to support you, do you believe your next relationship would end in a similar way?”

“No,” Draco admitted, “I suppose not.”

“Would you still try to keep this from your partner?”

“No.”

“Do you try to avoid situations that will tempt you to turn back to old habits?”

“Yes.”

“Then is it fair to say the way you handled relationships eight months ago is not the way you would treat a romantic partner today?”

“I suppose that is accurate, but—”

“Why do you believe you need to wait?” asked Penelope. “You have moved forward in recovery. You are honest with the people around you, and for the first time in years you are allowing yourself to experience true emotion. The very things that held you back in your previous relationships are what you are working to fix.”

“You can repair a broom’s handle, but that does not mean it will fly straight.”

Penelope shot back, “I believe a broom’s course depends upon who is riding it.”

“I know myself well enough to know I will fuck it up.”

“Does one mistake mean a relationship has to end? In my mind, if someone loves you then the two of you will work through it. Love is about understanding each other and forgiving minor faults in favour of creating a life together. Right now, your life includes Anorexia.”

“Yes!” Draco shouted. “Yes, it does, and that is a solo venture. I will get better for myself, not to prove a point to anyone, or to prove I am worthy of someone’s love.” He repeated, “This is for me.”

“My point exactly.”

Draco frowned and said, “Sorry, I don’t follow.”

“You told me that recovery is something you must do for yourself. If someone loves you, they will see that as strength. You are doing a brave thing, and anyone who believes otherwise is not worthy of your time. If someone wants to date you, to truly know you, then they need to see this part of you as well. This uncomfortable, broken piece you are trying to repair.”

“You seem to understand me just fine,” Draco quipped. “Perhaps I should ask you out, then.”

“That would be unethical for a number of reasons,” Penelope replied, “and you’re not my type.”

“Wealthy?”

“Blond.”

“Ah,” Draco teased, “I suppose there isn’t much to be done about that.”

“Would you ever change your hair colour?”

Horrified by the suggestion, Draco shouted, “God, no!” 

“Now _that_ is interesting.”

“Why?”

Penelope observed, “You grew a beard in hopes that people would not recognize you as Draco Malfoy. Yet everyone knows Malfoys by their blond hair, which you are unwilling to change. It sounds as though you want to look less like yourself while still maintaining an attachment to your family name.”

Draco’s jaw fell open. How the hell had she turned the conversation around so quickly? 

“Like you said in our early sessions, you want to be a Malfoy but you do not wish to be Draco. I believe that is where you need to build up confidence. You want to get well, but you have to believe Draco Malfoy is worthy of being well.”

He admitted, “I did realize something this week.”

“What was it?”

Draco laced his fingers together and said, “I wronged a lot of people when I was a child, but the ones I harmed the most have forgiven me. Hermione, Bill Weasley, Dean, and Luna Lovegood all forgave me. It made me wonder why I cannot forgive myself.”

“Only you know the answer to that question.”

He sighed and replied, “Just once, I would like to leave your office without a headache.”

“You think you have a headache?” Penelope laughed. “I see six of you every day four times a week. I love my job, but there are some days when I could use a good Cheering Charm.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Let’s circle back for a moment, because I need you to understand that waiting for a relationship is not the ticket to success. If you were with Hermione Granger, her concern was that she would need to deal with your emotions while you leave hers behind. Anorexia does not preclude you from being a good boyfriend. In fact, trying to understand your own emotions forces you to be more empathetic toward others. Her concerns are valid, but you do not need to be better in order to be loved.”

“Maybe.”

Penelope repeated, “Maybe?”

“Well, you know what they say.” Draco stood up from the chair and said, “Lonely hearts don’t break.”


	24. Stronger Than He Thinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past couple weeks have been difficult, and Draco is one bad meal away from relapse. Fortunately, he has some wise counsel around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place in early September, ending on September 18th, 2007. 
> 
> TW: attempted food restriction/denial

Draco stared down at the table.

Pansy had given him tea and three macarons. She wore a long-sleeved shirt patterned with constellations, and dark purple lipstick. Pansy had a date with Katie that evening, and it was nice to see her with someone she did not need to slut up for. Quill, ink, and parchment sat on the tabletop, but Draco hadn’t reached for it. Not yet. The past couple weeks had been more pain than they were worth, and he fell into more negative patterns than better ones.

“You’re thinking more than you should be,” Pansy observed as she sipped her tea. She smacked her lips together and placed the cup back on the saucer, leaving a trace of lipstick along the rim. “Might as well call it your Granger face.”

With a heavy sigh, Draco admitted, “I cannot figure out what to get Hermione for her birthday.”

“What does she want?”

“Books?” he guessed. “I dunno, really. Given that I have no idea what we are to each other, it is that much more difficult. Are we friends? Best friends? Almost-together? My heart is screaming for me to go after her, to tell her I want to be with her. To be a couple. Us, together. Then I fall too far into my head. I remember how fucked-up my life is, how mental I am, then convince myself to stay back and wait.”

“Does she know what she’s doing to you?” asked Pansy.

“She isn’t doing anything to me.”

“You know what?” Pansy tossed her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. “You’re right. I should not have said anything.”

“Why would you think that?”

She glared at Draco and raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear across her face.

“Dunno. Last time I told you how a woman was treating you, you demanded I leave your house and cut off all contact for ten months. Perhaps you think that has something to do with it?”

“Point made,” Draco conceded, “but I would like to hear your take on the situation.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“So you practice Legilimency, now?”

“I’ve known you since before either of us could walk. It’s not like I need to see inside your mind to know what’s happening in there. Besides, we all know what happened last time you allowed someone to take a peek.”

That ended rather poorly for Draco _and_ the Wizengamot-appointed Legilimens. 

“Your problem is not that you don’t know what you are. The problem is that you have fallen arse over tits for Granger and she’s still sampling other men’s goods.”

“Only because—”

“Only because you tried to set boundaries. She strung you along and didn’t believe you were strong enough to know she liked you. As if you are some fragile boy without agency. As though you hadn’t survived life with the most powerful Dark wizard the world has seen since Merlin only knows when. There are only two options. Either she truly believed you weren’t strong enough to know about her feelings, or ...”

Draco frowned.

“Or?”

“Or she was ashamed of them.”

Draco thought about that for awhile. He rearranged the macarons on top of the saucer. Vanilla, chocolate, pistachio. Chocolate, pistachio, vanilla. Pistachio, vanilla, chocolate. 

“Hermione truly believed I was not ready to know.” Draco pushed the tea off to the side. “At the time, I accepted it. I was willfully blind to all of it; both my feelings for her and her feelings toward me. While we acknowledge it now, almost nothing has changed.”

“How do you mean?”

“The way she touches me.”

Pany scrunched her face in disgust and groaned, “Gross.”

“Not like that!” Draco insisted. “We have never been like that. At Blaise’s wedding reception I accidentally touched her arse while we were dancing and she didn’t push my hand away, but that is as close as we’ve gotten. She leans into me, closer than a friend would. When we say goodbye she wraps her arms around my waist and presses her forehead into my chest. And I just ... I hold her.” He bit down on his lip and admitted, “I hold her like I never want her to let go.”

“Who lets go?” asked Pansy. 

“I do, because if I allow her to linger I’ll end up snogging her. I know I would, and I am just as weak as she believes me to be.”

“Well if you are the one who lets go, then this whole mess is your fault, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand why it would be.”

“I had a whole rant built up in my head about this. I planned to lay out all the things you described. The lingering touches in front of your friends. The dates that aren’t dates. I wanted you to see that Granger is stringing you along like the world’s most reliable backup plan. But now I see I’ve got it half-wrong.”

Draco chuckled darkly and asked, “Only by half?”

“Yes, because you aren’t the backup plan. _They_ are. The other men are her backups. She cannot commit to you because all she sees is you pulling away from her. Ending your embraces and, yes, the fact that you left without telling her goodbye. Have you asked her to stop seeing them?”

“No, I did not feel that would be fair.”

“God, this is what you do!” Pansy shouted. “You let people push you around and make you into what they need you to be. All because you are too fucking terrified to be the man you are.”

Draco didn’t respond except to lace his fingers together below the table. 

“You can’t even look at me, won’t contradict me, just sit there and take it.”

“Because you’re not wrong.”

“Maybe I am!”

“No, you are not,” he insisted. “How could anyone love me like this?”

“Are you still hung up on being unable to eat? Hermione Granger knows that and she still spends a freakish amount of time with you.”

“But—”

“No!” Pansy shouted. “I am done with this. I watched you lose yourself in Astoria and I will be damned if I let this disease take you from me, too. This illness is not part of you; it is something that you are going through, like Spattergroit. Nobody knows the man you are underneath because Anorexia is all you’ve ever shown us.”

Draco cringed. Hearing the word aloud sent a current of shame straight through him.

“My guess,” Pansy continued, “is that Granger sees past it. She clings to you because those moments are all you give her. You don’t trust yourself enough to go for more.”

Draco mumbled, “Awareness.”

“What?”

“That is what my therapist discussed with me on Thursday,” he revealed. “Awareness. I need to be more ‘cognizant of my emotions’ and all that skrewtshit. ‘Draco, when you think about skipping a meal, what emotions are you experiencing?’ I dunno, Penelope, take your pick of the bloody lot! Shame for being like this at all. Anger at my parents, at the Dark Lord, at myself. Happy, even, that I may be able to control my life for a moment. Now she has me writing this food diary; recording everything I eat and how I feel as I eat it.”

“But you haven’t eaten anything.”

Draco grabbed the chocolate macaron and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Ah-re ‘oo ‘appy nahw?” he asked between bites.

“No, I am not happy now.”

He swallowed and washed it down with some tea. It was all so ridiculous; the tea he barely touched, Pansy defending Hermione, writing down his food intake just to look at it later and feel horrible about every last bite of it. A nasty cycle of doing what his therapist asked of him then shaming himself for it. 

Pansy walked around the table to hug him, and Draco cried into her shoulder as she held him close. He was so goddamn starved for touch, afraid to ask anyone for contact because they looked at him like he might break if they touched him wrong. Pansy had no such concern.

“It’s okay to want her,” she said. “I dunno if anyone’s told you that yet, but I think you need to hear it. Fantastic that you want her, actually, because you get to fulfill your dream of pissing off Ron Weasley in the one way he’d never expect.”

Draco laughed.

“You’re stronger than I will ever be. You may be in a dark place right now, but you are working toward better days. Don’t isolate yourself and push Granger away. She wants you, you want her, so shag already.”

More laughter.

“You’re not weak, you know.”

Draco swallowed thickly and replied, “I know.” For the first time in years, it didn’t feel like a lie.

**.oOo.**

“It is not the same.”

Bill Weasley mostly worked in silence. He magicked a piece of tape over Brutus Malfoy’s mouth, which made the hallway infinitely more tolerable. However, without the obscene shouting an uncomfortable silence took root between them. Bill alternated between muttering counter-curses and flipping through his notes. Draco stood by until the silence was unbearable.

“Romilda and me, it is not the same. Completely different conditions.”

Bill shrugged.

“Okay.”

Draco asked, “Do you plan to tell anyone?”

Bill laughed and said, “Malfoy, the only reason I have ever really cared about you was the month you spent with Gabrielle. And when Fleur spent days comforting her when the two of you broke up. Whatever the hell you are going through is none of my business.”

“How is Gabrielle?”

“Perfect, as usual. She is great with Victoire and Dominique when she visits, but she lives in Carcassonne now. I think she is still searching for a place that feels like home. To be more honest than I probably should be, I thought the two of you worked quite well together.”

Draco smiled softly, remembering his time with Gabby.

“If I had been a better person, it would have worked. She deserved more, though, because I was dedicated to so many other people. Not really to her.”

“Well I never thought you’d hop from my sister-in-law to my ex-sister-in-law.”

“Funny how that works, isn’t it?” quipped Draco. “Though Hermione is not exactly what Gabrielle was to me. I am having trouble defining what we are to each other.”

“If you tell another soul about this, I will personally put one of these paintings up in your room with a Sticking Charm so powerful you’ll have to burn the house down to get rid of it.” Bill’s eyes led Draco to believe that was not an empty threat. “Everyone knew Hermione and Ron were going to fall apart. We tried to talk them out of it so many times, but they are both so bloody stubborn. They never asked each other the right questions and their lives were on two different paths. And Hermione is ...”

“Hermione is what?”

“Violent. She doesn’t mean to be, and after everything that happened to her it is hardly a surprise she built up defenses. Ron didn’t deserve that and Hermione didn’t deserve to relegate herself to the future Ron wanted.” Bill chuckled. “The one thing they could agree on was telling the rest of us to fuck off.”

Draco conceded, “It sounds like her.”

“And go easy on Gabe, will you? He’s still torn up about what he said.”

“It was rather enlightening to hear his point of view. I wish he hadn’t done it, but I can hardly be upset with him after everything he has done to help me. Gabriel and I were never close before this, though he seems rather fond of you.”

“He’s like a little brother. More of a sibling than Ron and Ginny sometimes because of the age difference. And he’s always been a bit wary of his relationship with Romilda because of their age gap. I thought it was odd when they first got together, yet now they are one of the most functional couples I know.”

Draco conceded, “The world is a strange place.”

Bill lowered his wand hand for a moment and stared at the floor.

“The war never really leaves, you know.” He paused, then added, “You know better than almost anyone.”

“I keep trying to move on from it, but the more I try the more I believe I just have to live with these memories. Live with the fear and guilt that never quite goes away.”

“None over me, I hope.”

“Loads.”

“You were a kid,” Bill replied. “Hell, I was still a kid, really. I got lucky. I had people who loved me and didn’t waste my second chance. Can you say the same?”

Draco frowned.

“I dunno.”

“That’s on you, then. If you give yourself another chance, your friends will follow.” Bill paused before asking, “Why did you decide to take these portraits down?”

“I have seen enough bloodshed for one life; I do not need reminders on every wall. How can I move forward when this entire house is covered in the past? It is time for me to make my mark on the manor, not that my father is thrilled about it. At least by the time I die, I hope the Malfoy name stands for something more than violence.”

Bill mumbled another spell that nearly shook the painting from the wall. One more spell and Great-Grandfather Brutus fell face-first onto the floor. 

Draco smiled and said, “Only seventeen more to go.”

**.oOo.**

Gabriel hugged Draco the moment he stepped into Weeoanwhisker’s. It was the day before Hermione’s birthday and almost everything had fallen into place. 

“I am so, so sorry!” Gabriel said. “I know I was a git.”

“Yes, you were.”

Gabriel whisked Draco into one of the chairs and had the little cape around his neck before Draco could blink.

“Did you reconcile with Romilda?”

“Yes!”

The giddy smile on Gabriel’s face broke Draco’s heart. He wondered whether he would ever look at anyone like that, with pure, unbridled adoration. (His friends would have confirmed that was exactly how he looked at Hermione.) However, if all went to plan, Draco would be putting his heart on the line again very soon. It was terrifying, but there was a sort of freedom in that fear.

“I showed up at her door with flowers, an apology, and we talked through our issues. Grovelling was involved.”

“Will you be at Hermione’s party?”

“Yes! Romi wouldn’t miss it.” Gabriel caught Draco’s eyes in the mirror and asked, “Are you serious about growing your hair out again?”

He confirmed, “I am.”

“Just a trim on the bottom, then?” Gabriel began arranging his tools. “Bloody hell, it’s at your shoulders! You Malfoys have the best hair, and I will stand by that statement. Now, what are we doing to your beard?”

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Shave it off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was short and not exactly the strongest chapter, but I'm struggling with this story right now. Life has really been getting me down and I hope that changes soon. My experiences in this fandom have not been positive and I definitely wish I'd chosen another pairing or fandom for the setting of this story. But we're here, we're in it, and I'm gonna finish. I made the mistake of going back through the comments on my other Dramione stories and it brought back so much ... AYMM was written while I was in a very dark place. Inked was written during my Draco-bails-on-his-entire-life-and-goes-to-France period, which was an even darker place. It's mostly my fault for going back and rereading, but ... I hope to get back to the usual caliber of writing next chapter. I don't want to let y'all down if you've made it this far through the 80K of angst and whump. I'll try to have that up soon.


	25. Hermione's Spectacular Spectacular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you're going to make a move, Malfoy, make it."

There was a time when Draco Malfoy loved parties.

After all, life was more fun with an audience. At various points Draco had jumped out of a large cake (Pansy’s 21st birthday), laced everyone’s drinks with Gigglewater (his parents’ 30th anniversary), and sung a delightful drunk duet with Theo—the Weird Sisters’ latest single, “All Hat, No Wand”—at Tracey’s 23rd birthday. But that Draco had begun to fade even before he sought out help.

This would be the first time he celebrated Hermione’s birthday. She had run through the guest list on Saturday, which contained high potential for yet another emotionally difficult evening. Blaise, Dean, Theo, Romi and Gabriel would be there to keep him company alongside a host of people who fancied him either locked up or dead. Ron fucking Weasley would be there, not to mention several high-ranking Ministry employees and foreign dignitaries. 

It was not a crowd Draco could get lost in.

In the seven weeks since Draco returned from France, he gained a full stone. A bit might have been muscle from his morning runs with Bastien, or so Draco told himself. It was enough weight that his clothes hung differently. He felt different in them, and not in a good way.

His closet was a frightening place.  _ Would this fit? Would that be too tight? Could his arms even fit through those sleeves anymore? _ Draco was late and drowning in options. He should have planned an outfit earlier, but he still would have found a reason to hate it. He settled on black trousers, a black t-shirt, and an emerald green bomber jacket. Simple and casual enough to not be a date outfit, while still looking like he made an effort.

The party took place at one of the Wizarding World’s most exclusive nightclubs. Draco didn’t think Hermione was much of the partying type. He thought she’d be happy with a small dinner for her friends, but perhaps he didn’t know her as well as he thought. The party was in full swing by the time Draco arrived, an hour after it began. 

Walking into the club was like stepping into a life he hardly remembered. Two years earlier Draco would have been at the centre of the mass of bodies in front of the stage. As touch-starved as he was, nightclubs were an excuse for dozens of people to touch him without consequence. If he wasn’t careful, that loneliness could strangle him again and he had bailed on too many parties as of late. 

Draco wandered around with Hermione’s gift between his arms and squinted through the dark, searching for anyone he knew. He looked around the small club and guessed about a hundred and twenty people were in attendance. The Swiss Minister for Magic was there, along with a few high-ranking officials Draco recognized from Greece, Spain, and Austria. Ghouls and Roses were onstage. Alicia Spinnet and one of the French senior ministers were snorting Pixie Dust off a table, Potter and Ron Weasley were at the bar ...

Draco considered running out the door until someone shouted his name. He whipped around but couldn’t figure out who called him over the sound of the music and din of the crowd.

“DRACO!”

A few moments later he spotted Gabriel pushing people out of the way. He accepted a hug as Gabriel shouted into his ear.

“BLAISE AND I ARE GOING TO DO A DOUBLE SHOT OFF ROMI! YOU HAVE TO WATCH!”

Draco shook his head and shouted, “WHERE IS HERMIONE?!”

Gabriel shrugged and replied, “NOBODY’S SEEN HER SINCE THE PARTY STARTED!”

“I’M GOING TO PUT HER GIFT WITH THE OTHERS!”

Gabriel nodded and pointed toward the backmost corner of the club where a massive pile of gifts awaited Hermione. Draco meandered through the crowd and put the box on a free spot at the back of the table. Then it hit him: this wasn’t Hermione’s party. Someone along the line had been invited, who invited someone, then that person invited another one until twenty people became a hundred more. This was a convenient excuse for a bunch of high-ranking diplomats to get plastered. If everyone got smashed, no one would be able to blab for fear their own exploits would be exposed. 

He needed a moment alone. Just a moment. It wasn’t really hiding if he only hid for five minutes. Draco walked up the stairs two at a time and peeked into the private room at the end of the hall. He smiled when he found Hermione reading at a corner of the table in the centre of the room.

“Can’t say I am surprised to see you hiding up here with your nose in a book.”

“I’ll be down when they cut the cake,” she said without looking up. “It seems that with this promotion came a few ‘perks,’ one of which was the office hijacking my birthday party. I couldn’t say no once half of Europe’s magical delegation had invited themselves.”

“They said cake is in a half hour.” Draco gathered his courage and asked, “Dance with me ‘til then?”

Hermione put her book on the table and smiled when she saw his face.

“You shaved it off!”

Draco shrugged.

“I figured it was time to stop hiding.”

“Then I suppose I should do the same.” 

Hermione stood up from the table and Draco couldn’t help but stare. The red dress fell to her ankles and was made of thin fabric, certainly not an outfit to hide in. It was cut low enough that Draco’s eyes slipped more than once. She’d pulled her hair back into a half-up style that left her shoulders bare except for the two slim straps holding up the dress. She looked wonderful and Draco couldn’t help but say,

“Wow.”

Hermione laughed and revealed, “This was one of my post-divorce purchases.”

“Remind me to thank Weasley later,” Draco teased.

Hermione took his hand in hers and said, “There is a lot more where this came from. It turns out retail therapy is far more expensive than actual therapy.”

Draco smiled as Hermione led him downstairs. It was comical how everyone at the bar seemed to catch sight of them at once. Jaws dropped open, eyebrows were raised, and Weasley looked ready to duel on the spot. It was strange because holding hands was nothing out of the ordinary for them. Draco couldn’t help but want more, though. He wondered whether holding hands would ever be  _ holding hands. _

They made their way toward the back of the dance floor, weaving through the crowd. The music played at a crushing decibel, exactly as Draco remembered. It had been awhile for him, but dancing in the dark with attractive people was a habit he hadn’t quite forgotten. It was easy to disappear, the two of them lit only by multicoloured lights that bounced away just as quickly as they landed. 

Hermione shouted over her shoulder, “I HAVEN’T DONE THIS IN A LONG TIME!”

“IT’S LIKE RIDING A BROOM! YOU NEVER REALLY FORGET.”

“I’M NOT MUCH FOR BROOMS!”

Draco leaned down to say something only she would hear.

“You look amazing, Hermione. Everyone is watching, so you may as well give them a show.”

She grumbled, “No pressure.”

Draco chuckled and turned her around. Instinct took over as he placed his hands on Hermione’s shoulders and slowly moved his fingers down her sides. He felt her relax beneath his touch as he followed her curves, brushed against the sides of her tits, dipped in at her waist, then settled his hands on her hips. She leaned back and moved side-to-side with the music. There was freedom in the dark, so Draco wasn’t dancing with his friend; he was dancing with the woman he wanted to be with. Hermione pulled Draco’s hands back up to her waist and he bent down to kiss her shoulder. 

They spent the next few songs dancing together, mindless, exploring each other with their hands. Once she stopped thinking about it, Hermione was a lot of fun. It was easy to get lost in the idea that they might somehow ...

“Enough time with the birthday girl, Malfoy!” Romilda shouted as she pulled Hermione away. “Ginny and I want a turn!”

Draco dutifully handed her off, and if he didn’t know better he would say she was disappointed to leave him. Draco told himself it was just a trick of the light. No use in getting his hopes up only to have them crushed later on. Draco made his way to the bar and ordered a Strongbow, afraid anything more potent would ruin the evening. Mid-sip, he heard the last voice he wanted to hear.

“Did you place her under the Imperius Curse or was it a Confundus Charm?”

Draco swallowed and regretted not ordering something stronger.

“Piss off, Weasley.”

“At first I really thought you’d done something like that,” he admitted. “The way she looks at you, she never looked at me quite like that.”

“Hermione usually looks at me with a combination of confusion and disappointment.”

“How stupid are you? She looks at you like she wants you. And yeah, it confuses the hell out of her just like it does all of us. I was right well pissed about it when I found out, but when you ran off she was devastated. I mean, completely broken-hearted, sobbing, wondering why—”

Draco slammed his glass on the bar and shouted, “I get it!”

“But you don’t, do you? Because that’s what Hermione does. She gets pissed at you for not telling her something even though she kept an even bigger thing from you. How the hell were you supposed to know what she felt? Did she ever tell you?”

“No.”

“Because she was scared.” Weasley took a deep breath and leaned just a bit further into Draco’s space. “I’ve moved on, you know. I’m happy making a family of my own. Hermione is one of my best friends and I want her to be happy, too. I’m not saying I don’t hate you, but Harry and Hermione see something in you that I don’t. It’s not the first time I’ve been a little blind, either. Just be careful with her heart, will you?”

Draco nodded and turned to look Ron Weasley in the eyes.

“Were you this terrified when you fell in love with her?”

“No, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Everything between us was young and stupid and forced along by the war. When I stopped to think about it, I always convinced myself she was in love with Harry. I was never scared, I was only ever happy or angry. Not much else with us, you know?”

Draco nodded. He’d only recently begun to experience a full range of emotions himself.

“I still don’t know if she wants me the way I want her.”

Weasley nodded toward the dance floor and said, “She keeps looking over here and I don’t think she’s putting on a show for me.”

Draco turned around to look and his heart jumped in double-time. For the first time since they’d become friends, Hermione looked like she’d let go of all her troubles. Her dress twirled around her hips as she lost herself in the music. She said goodbye to work, to Weasley, and all the aggression that built up inside her over the years. It looked like she was having fun and Draco ached for her to be like that with him.

“That dopey look on your face is the reason I’m not fighting her on this.” Weasley turned toward the end of the bar where Potter sat observing the conversation, but turned back around to say, “Bit of advice, Hermione’s not a patient woman. If you’re gonna make a move, Malfoy,  _ make it.” _

He walked away and Draco looked down at the empty glass in his hands. Ronald fucking Weasley was giving him love advice. Draco was not nearly drunk enough for this. A few songs later, the lead singer waved one hand in the air to silence the band. He leaned into the microphone and said,

“We’ve been told it is time for the birthday lady to blow out her candles.”

The crowd parted around Hermione as Blaise rolled out her cake. Chocolate with chocolate frosting, of course. Twenty-eight flames flickered on top of the candles, and Hermione seemed to shrink into herself as everyone sang “Happy Birthday.” She quickly glanced in Draco’s direction before blowing out the candles. 

“Happy birthday, Hermione Granger!” the lead singer shouted. “Cake will be upstairs, and now you should find a good dance partner because we’re going to slow things down for a moment.”

Draco was walking onto the dance floor just as Hermione turned in his direction. He offered his hand and asked,

“May I have this dance?”

“Only if you promise to help carry my gifts upstairs.”

Draco smiled and said, “I think I can manage that.” 

He pulled Hermione in close and they danced as guests slowly vacated the floor. Halfway through the song, it was just the two of them swaying together on an otherwise-empty dance floor. It seemed to be over just as soon as it began. Draco had been lost in the moment. Holding Hermione so close gave him more of a buzz than the Strongbow. 

“That was nice,” she said, “but I think I’ve had enough dancing for the night.”

Draco agreed and allowed Hermione to lead him to the gift table. They ended up levitating most things up the stairs, leaving the bottles of alcohol to be collected later. They passed by the room with the cakes (Blaise made enough for everyone.) and chose the last room, placing the gifts on the table with Hermione’s book.

“You have quite the lot.”

“I do like presents,” Hermione admitted. “Did you bring one?”

“Of course!” Draco said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“Which one?”

Draco Summoned the box and placed it in front of Hermione. He wrapped it in simple purple paper with a silver ribbon and bow. Hermione appeared impressed.

“It’s beautiful. Who wrapped this?”

“I did.” Draco blushed. “I enjoy giving presents and wrapping them. You should see me at Christmas, my study is covered in paper.”

“May I open it?”

Oh, God. Oh,  _ God.  _ Draco nodded, finding the moment even more terrifying than he anticipated. As Hermione tore into the wrapping, he said,

“Food isn’t really food to me; it’s control. Or, I suppose it is the lack of control. Blaise, and Penelope, and  _ you _ , Hermione, are starting to make me see it differently. I may not be happy about it, but you make me feel like I am moving forward. I am painfully slow at it, but still, I am moving forward.”

“That’s good,” Hermione replied. She tossed the paper aside and began opening the box.

“Food is important, though. It’s intimate.”

Hermione pulled out one of the two place settings; complete with utensils, teacup, and saucer. They had a beautiful gold and platinum braided trim, which his mother helped select. (Draco hadn’t mentioned who they were for, but he was certain she knew. When it came to Hermione, he was a painfully open book.) Hermione’s smile wavered a bit as she asked,

“You got me plates?”

“Date plates,” Draco corrected.

“You’ve lost me.”

Draco blushed and said, “There are two settings there. My family is rather traditional—”

“I know that much.”

“—and my mother taught me that if you love someone enough to invite them into your home for a meal, they deserve a special set. One that is only for meals the two of you share together. Blaise always says white plates are best because it allows the food to be the focus, so I thought you should have white date plates.”

Hermione delicately placed the plate back in its box. She looked up at him and asked,

“Why?”

“I have spent ten years in a prison of my own making and I don’t want to be there anymore. I want a second chance to be the person I want to be. Penelope has told me time and time again that to do so I must relinquish control of my emotions. Over the past several months I’ve allowed myself to feel guilt, hopelessness, and even pride. But there is one thing I have been too terrified to experience.”

“Happiness.”

Hermione sait it because she already knew his answer. Draco nodded, not that she needed confirmation. Hermione saw through his carefully-crafted walls as though they weren’t there at all.

She asked, “Why are you so afraid to be happy?”

“Because it can be taken away! I thought there were moments when Gabrielle made me happy. Blaise and Astoria had time with me they described as happy, but I never felt the same. At Blaise’s wedding I finally figured out the difference between being cheerful and being happy. See, Dean could spend the rest of his life doing nothing but snogging Blaise and he would die a happy man. Theo looks at his kids and sees Tracey, he will do anything for them, and it makes him happy. I realized that happiness is love with a purpose; two things I never had.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” Hermione said. “I like that logic, but what does that have to do with plates?”

Draco could still back out, walk away, and pretend this never happened. But Weasley was right. If he was going to make a move, he had to make it now. He took one of Hermione’s hands and ran his thumb across her knuckles. She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, and Draco dove right in.

“You are the most powerful, intelligent, ambitious person I have ever met. While I have seen what unbridled power looks like up close, yours does not terrify me because your intentions are good. You don’t fight for Hermione Granger, you fight for what is right. You forgave me for the awful things I did to you, which allowed me to see you as more than an apology waiting to happen. I got to see you as Hermione. I was able to see you as my friend.”

Hermione made a disappointed face and replied, “I suppose I am happy to be your friend.”

“No, no, you misunderstand.” Draco hummed, frustrated at himself. He was so afraid of her reaction he could hardly get the words out. “I am tired of pretending I am not jealous of the men you’ve been dating. I hate wondering whether you slept with them, and being too terrified of the answer to ask. Most of all, I hate when you hug me and I let go too early because I know I will kiss you if I don’t.” Draco nodded to her gift and said, “These plates are yours to share with whomever you choose, but I want you to choose me. It will be hard sometimes, dealing with this, with  _ me _ , I mean. But if you’ll have me, I want my second chance to begin with you.”

Draco couldn’t read the expression on Hermione’s face. His heart pounded against his ribs and he felt his face heat up, anxiety heightening with every second she didn’t reply. 

“Do you remember our first lunch together?”

Draco nodded, not quite trusting himself to form a complete sentence.

“You said you broke up with Gabrielle to avoid spilling all your problems onto her. It made me wonder, why are you alright pouring those problems onto me?”

“Gabrielle and I were together four years ago, and I was different then. Bloody hell, Hermione, I was different four months ago!”

“You were  _ gone _ four months ago.”

Draco groaned and bit back his instinctive,  _ Did you really need to bring that up right now? _

“I made mistakes. I will keep making mistakes and learning from them, becoming the man I want to be. It will take time, but I understand now that pushing my friends away, pushing  _ you  _ away is a mistake. My problems are  _ my _ problems and I will deal with them, share them with you without expecting you to solve them. If—wait, why am I explaining this to you?” he asked. “If you don’t want this, just say you don’t want me. I have had my fair share of rejection and I can take it.”

“Can you?” she shot back.

“Yes!” Draco shouted. “What is happening to you? You know me better than this.”

“I’m scared!”

“Of me?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Hermione. “Yes, I am scared of you. And yes, I slept with someone because I thought it would get my mind off our friendship because I want it to be more than that. I have tried again and again to find someone who makes me feel the way you do. I spent my time with other men comparing them to you. When I slept with someone I was thinking about what it would be like if he was you.” She dabbed at one eye with a fingertip and said, “What you would feel like.”

Draco felt himself flush clear down his neck. Hermione fantasized about him, too?

“You support me more than almost anyone. You have changed so much, nearly tortured yourself to death because of all the guilt and pain inside of you. Yet you still manage to move forward and it is one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen. But I’ve seen what you do to yourself, how much further in recovery you have to go. I am scared you might relapse again, but this time I will have to watch and it  _ terrifies me. _ I care about you so much, I don’t think I can do that. Draco, this is—”

He kissed her. Draco had one hand on the back of Hermione’s neck, the other resting on her waist, and she was kissing him back. His eyes fell shut as he pulled Hermione closer. She wrapped her arms around his waist and everything around them faded to nothing. It was better than he imagined; slow, lingering kisses that felt like a dream. Hermione was soft and so incredibly small in his arms. Draco hadn’t held her like this before, there was always a restrained desire, tension between them. But at that moment _ she was kissing him back. _

When Draco finally stepped away, Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Draco couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“I never thought you’d do it, Hermione admitted. She trailed her fingers across her lips before letting her hand fall back to her side. “For the first time in my life, I got exactly what I wished for.”


	26. The First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is terrified of messing up his first date with Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place from September 21st - 24th, 2007.

“I have a date.”

The session was almost halfway finished and Draco couldn’t hold it in any longer. Penelope smiled, and that always made Draco feel like he had done something right. If he could keep Penelope optimistic, perhaps there was hope for him.

“With whom?”

“Hermione Granger.” Draco laced his fingers together and pressed one thumb down firmly onto the other. “I am taking her out on Sunday since it is the only day she has off now that she is head of the IMC.”

“This is wonderful news!”

Draco nodded and Penelope scribbled a note on the corner of her parchment.

“It appears I am more excited about your date than you are.”

“I am excited,” Draco insisted, “I have wanted this for months. But I am also very, very scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of fucking it up. If this relationship fails, it will be my fault. Hermione is brilliant, successful, and a bloody war hero! What am I? Who the hell is Draco Malfoy compared to that?”

“Why are you making this a competition?” Penelope asked with a frown.

“Because she could have anyone. I want this to work more than anything. Hermione is the one person that I trust to ...” Draco shook his head. “She could have anyone and I do not want to give her any more reasons not to choose me.”

“Go back to the first bit. Hermione is the one person you trust to ... what?”

Draco alternated the placement of his thumbs and pressed down again.

“After what happened with Astoria, I am not sure I have the confidence to do this. I’ve always failed at falling in love. With Gabrielle, I was too young and rash to do it right. I was in denial about what was happening to me, but I knew something was wrong and I loved her enough to keep her out of it. I love Blaise as a friend, but we were never meant to be more. Not that I didn’t imagine it, because I did, but it was never an endgame. Then I took Astoria into my arms and nearly allowed her to ruin me.”

“Does she continue to influence you?”

“Her words do, yes,” Draco agreed. “When I was on my own in France, I knew I was becoming exactly what she said I was: a walking corpse. Astoria said no one would ever love me like this, and I thought she was right. However, Hermione does not need me to be better. She wants me even if I am still struggling to move forward as long as I keep trying. But what if I am too needy or too slow recovering? I have to be at a certain level for her to want to stay.”

“No,” Penelope said, “I don’t believe that to be true. The only thing you need for her to stay is to offer her as much support as she gives to you.”

“Supporting each other has never been an issue. Even as friends, I wanted to listen to her problems. That was our first lunch together, actually, me listening to her talk about therapy and Weasley and the divorce—”

“Fantastic! Your friendship was based on that, on you two honestly caring about each other. That indicates what’s happening is genuine. You don’t need to force it along, Draco. Do not try to rush just because you believe Hermione needs it. She sees you for  _ you.” _

“Guilt and pain,” Draco countered, “that is what she sees.”

“She sees you trying to  _ overcome _ the guilt and pain.”

“But how long will she wait? If I take this step and trip all over myself, can we still be friends? If it does work, am I going to do the same thing I did with Gabby? Making excuses to end it before she sees too much of me.”

“I think you are concerned about seeing too much of yourself,” replied Penelope.

Draco nodded.

“When Hermione agreed to go on a date, I felt so much hope for my own future. It was the first time I allowed myself to look much further than tomorrow, you know? Then I was scared because I haven’t felt that much of anything since the twins were born.”

“That was the last time you welcomed someone into your life and trusted they wouldn’t hurt you, right?”

“Astoria was the last person I welcomed into my life and trusted wouldn’t hurt me.”

“When she agreed to go out with you, did you feel that same sense of hope you found with Hermione Granger?”

Draco thought about it for a full minute. There was never a specific moment Astoria went from being his friend to his girlfriend. They spent some time together, spent more time together, then she snogged him and then they were dating.

“When I think about Astoria, I remember strawberry shampoo and dark lipstick. Her favourite band was the Quaffle Waffles and she stopped whatever she was doing to dance if one of their songs came on the radio. I remember how she would never leave me alone in a room of men, but was perfectly content to leave me alone in rooms filled with beautiful women.”

Penelope wondered, “Why do you believe she did that?”

“She thought she outshone other women for my affections, but did not believe she could compete with men.”

“Your bisexuality was a problem for her?”

“Always!” Draco balled his hands into fists and crossed his arms. “She felt like she was fending off the whole world, as though everyone was somehow available to me.”

“Why do you believe she competed for your affection at all?” asked Penelope. “Any solid relationship is built on a foundation of trust.”

“It is not as though there is a line of people waiting to date me. Shag me, yes, and at the time all I wanted was for people to touch me because I couldn’t stand the way I felt in my body. If someone else wanted it, though, that was a good enough substitute. That, combined with my attraction to men and women, created a narrative I had no control over. Maybe that is why Astoria and I worked so well at first; we were always competing against the world. Astoria got upset at the end because she finally realized there was nothing left in me to win.”

“I don’t believe that. There is so much inside of you that you refuse to let out. Maybe you are worried Hermione Granger will pull it out of you and are afraid of what she’ll find.”

“I know what she will find,” Draco snapped, “and that is the problem. I buried everything for a reason.”

“Are you happy with the consequences of that decision?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you have to let someone in.”

“Isn’t that what I am doing with you?” asked Draco. “Isn’t that the point of this?”

“You are trying to open up,” Penelope agreed. “I am a good benchmark, but I am not part of your life the way someone like Hermione Granger is. There are no consequences if you tell me something shocking, something shameful. If you were to tell her, however, you cannot predict the outcome.”

Draco scoffed, “Oh, I can.”

“Why do you believe that?”

“Because I let someone inside my head before and it went horribly wrong.”

Penelope hummed softly to herself and made another note on her parchment. Before Draco could try to read it, she asked,

“What happened?”

“The Wizengamot doesn’t allow Veritaserum in testimony, but they will permit a licensed Legilimens to pick around inside someone’s brain for the truth. When it came to my time with the Dark Lord, I never had anything to hide. Everyone knew what I had done, so I submitted my mind for examination.”

“That must have been strange for you.”

“Absolutely, I hadn’t let my shields down for years. The Legilimens lasted about eight seconds inside my head, and when I came to he was passed out on the floor. He spent a week at St. Mungo’s in the loony ward after just a  _ taste _ of what goes on inside of me. Maybe Astoria was right,” Draco realized. “No one will ever love me because of this.”

Penelope put down her quill and asked, “May I be blunt for a moment?”

Draco nodded. Why the hell not?

“You don’t strike me as the sort of man who scares easily. So why are you afraid of entering a relationship with Hermione Granger? Why are you afraid of entering a relationship with someone who clearly cares about you?”

“Because what if she sees me the same way Astoria did?”

“You hid things from Astoria Greengrass. You aren’t hiding anything from Hermione Granger, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Who do you believe is stronger, Hermione Granger or the Wizengamot-appointed Legilimens?”

“Hermione, obviously.”

“Who is the one person you think is strong enough to see inside your mind and accept what they find?”

“You.”

Penelope chuckled and said, “You are sweet, but our relationship is therapist-to-client, one based on logical reasoning. I can take a step back and see how your pieces fit together, but I’m not much for comforting you afterward. If I were to guess, there is another logic-oriented person in your life you’d let see behind your walls.”

Damn, she was good. Draco let his hands fall into his lap and slumped back in the chair. Penelope was right and he was making excuses for himself.

“I just don’t understand what she sees to make her believe this is a good idea.”

“Then we have your assignment for next week.”

“Just what I wanted,” Draco groaned, “more bloody homework.”

“I want you to find three things you like about yourself.”

“Only three?”

“More, if you like,” Penelope said, “but at least three.”

“I can do that.”

“I hope so.” She placed the quill back in the ink jar and sighed. “I really hope so.”

**.oOo.**

Draco told Hermione his plan for their date at lunch on Thursday; a picnic dinner in the manor garden. They could watch the sun set and be together without worrying whether anyone could see. She agreed immediately, and it made him laugh because she was somehow less frightened of Draco’s home than he was. 

“It occurred to me that our time together is spent almost entirely around other people. Parties, Blaise’s cooking lessons, therapy ... I want time with you where I don’t have to think about who is watching. No interruptions.”

Draco Apparated onto Hermione’s front steps at 5:30 on Sunday afternoon. She opened the door and pulled Draco down into a kiss before he could so much as breathe. He smiled against her lips then pulled away to say,

“Hello to you, too.”

“Sorry,” Hermione replied. She did not release her grip on his shirt collar. “After not being able to do that on Thursday  _ or _ Saturday, snogging you is all I have been able to think about.”

Draco kissed her quickly, then rested his forehead on hers. 

“I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday,” Hermione said through a laugh.

“An hour here, an hour there ...”

“Tonight you can have all the time you want.”

Draco looked down at her outfit and was mildly disappointed. She wore a large purple jumper, jeans, and boots. Casual, great picnic wear, but her tits were fully covered. Draco smiled to himself, thinking he’d been spoiled the past few times they were together. Hermione had left her hair in its untamed, frizzy curls and he was developing a fondness for that look. She was comfortable enough around him to be herself, and that was its own accomplishment. 

There was a large blanket in the grass on the outskirts of the garden, with Malfoy Manor barely visible in the distance. Purple and yellow flowers lined the path, but this part of the garden was Draco’s favourite because of its simplicity. During his trial, he would lay out on a blanket and stare up at the stars for fear he’d never see them again. 

The first hour of their date was wonderful. Draco let go of his insecurities and the fear he would somehow muck everything up before it even got started. He made the meal himself and felt he earned it. He put in the effort to make an amazing meal for their date, and not even his eating disorder would mess it up for him. Eating with Hermione was second-nature, anyway. 

“I am hoping to get my Saturdays back soon,” she said.

Draco tossed a couple raspberries into his mouth and asked, “Do you like being head of the IMC?”

“I like accomplishing more things, working toward my own goals instead of following someone else’s agenda. But politicking has never been my strength — ”

“You don’t say?” Draco teased. 

Hermione threw a grape at him, which he caught and also popped into his mouth.

“To me there is right and there is wrong, but some delegates can be swayed by other things. I am always trying to figure out who has been offered what, and how I can bring them back to the table.”

“Remind them you are Hermione Granger and that should be enough.”

“It’s not. For example, I am working on a treaty with the Merpeople regarding territorial rights along the coasts of Portugal, Spain, and France. The shipping and maritime liaison got to the French foreign minister first; now I am struggling to keep the treaty together while I fight to get him back.”

“The French foreign minister,” Draco asked, “is that Forestier?”

Hermione nodded. 

“I’ll ask Blaise to get him a reservation at Assiette Verde. Bastard’s been trying to get in for months, but Blaise keeps avoiding him. That should get you what you need.”

Hermione frowned.

“You’re saying I can win him over with a dinner table?”

“People are fickle, Hermione, they want what they want and your opposition will always try to figure out what that is. You have to one-up them or find some leverage. In this case, use a reservation to make the change you need to make.”

Hermione conceded, “You are better at this than I am.”

Draco didn’t respond for awhile. He began placing cutlery back in the basket, and when that was done he started picking invisible fuzz off the blanket. He hated speaking about the trial. Hell, even Penelope had to pry it out of him most of the time.

“We all learned a lot of things from the war, but my most important lesson came afterward. It did not matter how good a defense I had at my trial, I was going to Azkaban. Not for my own mistakes, but as recompense for my father’s. Potter is the only reason I was acquitted, so I learned political capital is the only protection I have.”

Hermione shifted closer to Draco on the blanket and took his hand. She didn’t say anything. Draco listened to the sounds of the garden around them; bugs humming somewhere in the distance, the splash of the fountain at the garden’s centre, and a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees behind them. As the sun set, the sky was cast in an orange, pink, and purple glow. It was so beautiful Draco couldn’t look away.

He had been on the move for so long that he couldn’t remember the last time he stopped to truly enjoy a moment. It was always forward or backward, shoving food into his face or vomiting it back. Even during his stay in France he was falling further into denial. Finally, Draco felt like he could breathe.

Hermione whispered, “What are you thinking about?”

“Penelope asked me to think of three things I like about myself. It is harder than I thought it would be. I like that my hair stopped falling out and running has gotten easier, but I don’t believe those are the sorts of things she wants.”

Hermione pressed a light kiss to Draco’s cheek.

“Then I will give you three things  _ I _ like. How you treat Scarlett and Sebastien with as much dignity as you would treat anyone else, because it says a lot about the type of father you will be. When you felt you had no one to turn to after your horrible date with Astoria, you came to me. It showed how important our friendship is to you.” She paused for a moment before saying, “I also like that you’re a good dancer.”

Draco grinned as the top of the sun sank below the horizon, plunging them into near-darkness. He turned to face Hermione and pulled her closer so they were nearly nose-to-nose. They were lit only by fairies glowing in the hedge and candles lining the walking path. Draco asked,

“How am I doing for a first date?”

“Not bad.”

“Oh, not bad?” Draco laughed. “Any notes?”

“It has been almost perfect,” Hermione replied, “but you have made one big mistake.”

“And what’s that?”

“We have been here over an hour and you haven’t kissed me yet.”

Draco softly pressed his lips against Hermione’s and the rest of the world faded away. He had never been so lost in another person. When her hands rested on his waist, Draco was not concerned with how much of him there was to hold onto. In fact, he hardly thought about himself at all. Hermione’s lips parted so he deepened the kiss. His fingers caught in Hermione’s curls and her legs were tangled up in his as she pressed the pads of her fingers against his cheek. Draco was so caught up in the moment he lost his balance, fell onto his side and took Hermione down with him. They ended up laughing as a single pile of limbs on top of the blanket.

“God,” Draco said between wheezing bursts of laughter, “I was s-so afraid of ... of fucking ... this up.”

“You didn’t,” Hermione said from somewhere on top of him. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

“You mean that?”

Hermione rolled off and laid on the blanket next to him.

“I do.”

“Does that mean we will do this again?”

She said, “Same time next Sunday.”

“It’s a date.”


	27. The Sex Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is not as confident as he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let the chapter title get you too excited. 
> 
> TW: self-image/self esteem/body image issues  
> TW: mild sexual language  
> TW: magical prejudice(s)

Narcissa Malfoy would say the best part of losing the war was being able to shop at Muggle stores without shame.

“The Dark Lord never understood that wizards lack a penchant for craftsmanship.”

“Probably because Goblins have been making our things for half a millennium,” quipped Draco.

They left Harrods with a twelve seat dining table to their name, set to be delivered two weeks later. It was a smokey grey piece that would fit perfectly at the centre of the new dining room, complementing the white walls. As with the rest of the manor, the room had always been dark. Like a stormcloud had settled over the garden and light could barely filter in, except the cloud had remained there for twenty-seven years. They were at a French curtain shop Narcissa found in Islington, but Draco’s thoughts were concentrated elsewhere.

“When Goblins start making curtains, our problems are solved. Until then, we buy from the best and the best happen to be Muggles. I suppose they have creativity to replace the magic in their blood. If they made traditional robes I would never set foot in Diagon Alley again.”

The ability of Draco’s parents to completely miss the point stopped surprising him long ago. As much as she claimed to loathe them, Narcissa always spoke to Muggle shop staff as if they were her equals. The knowledgeable ones, at least. Honestly, she was more at ease shopping in Muggle London than almost anywhere else. After a few years, Draco understood his mother gave time to Muggles who could serve her in some capacity. Servitude made them tolerable, made them respectable.

“What of these for the dining room?” Narcissa asked, pointing to a set of dark grey curtains.

“Those look too dark. A bit sad, almost.”

“They are not sad, they are bland. You do not want curtains to detract from the rest of the room or the view of the garden.”

“If you are so set on this, why am I even here?” asked Draco.

“I am not set on this. You are the one who is so determined to renovate the manor. After you took down the portraits our family’s had for centuries and called in that awful Hedgeflower woman to destroy part of the first floor, can you blame me for wanting to supervise the rest of this project?”

“She is not destroying the room; Gwen is repurposing it. As I said, mother, I cannot make a decent future for myself in a home that is stuck three centuries in the past.”

Narcissa sighed heavily and moved along to another section of curtains. 

“I only wish you had more respect for tradition.”

_ “Tradition _ nearly got me twenty years in Azkaban.”

“Yes, well, this little revelation of yours is inconvenient but if it keeps you on a forward path I will tolerate it.”

Draco rolled his eyes and said, “My recovery is such an inconvenience, isn’t it? Almost as big an inconvenience as living with the Dark Lord and being put on trial for my father’s crimes. Truly, mother, I apologize for being such a colossal fuckup that you have to come out and shop for some bloody curtains.”

“You know I enjoy it.” Narcissa let everything Draco said roll off like she hadn’t heard it at all. “My point was that you are moving forward, even at the manor. You seemed to have a nice time on your date with the Granger girl.”

Draco stopped dead in the middle of the aisle to ask, “How do you know about that?”

Narcissa quirked a brow and flipped through some more curtains as she said, “I know everything that goes on in my house.”

_ “My house.” _

“You are avoiding the question.”

“Yes,” he admitted, “I had an excellent time, actually. We went out again yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Narcissa asked, turning to face her son. “You told us you were out with the young Mr. Queensbury.” She frowned and wondered, “Did you lie to us?”

“I was afraid of your reaction. I do not want anything clouding my relationship with Hermione, least of all your opinion of her. My recovery casts a large enough shadow over everything.”

Narcissa’s expression softened.

“You truly care for her.”

Draco nodded.

“For the first time in my life, I have found someone I can be honest with. Everything that Astoria saw as something rotten inside of me, Hermione accepts it. I don’t have to hide from her and most times it feels too good to be true.”

“Is it?”

“I can’t tell. I know I hurt her when I left. Well, I hurt a lot of people when I left, but I never realized how much Hermione would care. What if I hurt her again?” He sighed, “I worry about making a mess of things, is all.”

“Oh, my son, love is a mess.” Narcissa smiled. “Not everything is your fault. The Granger girl never told you how she felt about you, and that was her doing. She dealt with the consequences. Now, are you two being careful?”

Draco shook his head and said, “We have not discussed it yet.”

“Discussed?” Narcissa asked, surprised. “Quite the departure for you, isn’t it? I thought it was a prerequisite.”

“Not for her.”

“I fear the answer, but I must ask the question.” Narcissa took Draco by the shoulders and asked, “Could you light a candle for this girl?”

He nodded.

“Then there is nothing left to discuss on the matter.” She pulled out another curtain. “Light grey, goblet pleats, I believe this is our winner. What do you think?”

Draco smiled and said, “I think you’re right.”

**.oOo.**

“This better be good, Malfoy, I’ve taken half the day off.”

Bastien was the last of Draco’s friends to arrive at Pansy’s for tea on Tuesday afternoon. They huddled in her dining room; Blaise with his back facing the door, Pansy with her feet resting on the table, Bastien sitting with his front against the chair’s back, and Theo avoiding Pansy’s owl. (It always looked at Theo like it was ready to pluck his eyes out.) 

“I have something to tell you, and it cannot wait any longer.” He took a deep breath as they leaned forward all at once, anxious to hear but unwilling to guess. “Hermione and I have been on two dates and we are going out again next week.”

Theo’s immediate reaction was to ask, “When was your first date?”

“The 24th.”

There was a collective groan around the table. 

“Aw!”

“Dammit!”

“Alright, who won the pool?”

Pansy pulled a card out of her back pocket, scanned through it, then said, “Gabriel Truman had five days.”

“That is skrewtshit!” Theo insisted. “He is dating Hermione’s secretary and knows her schedule!”

“You knew that when you placed your bet,” Pansy replied. “Alright, that’s two Galleons from Blaise, seven Sickles from Bastien, and six Sickles from Theo.” She pointed to the centre of the table and demanded, “Pay up.”

Draco watched as his friends grumbled and pulled out their coin pouches. Pansy collected Gabriel’s winnings and made a note on the card.

“You bet on how long it would take me to ask Hermione out?”

“No,” Blaise countered, “we bet on the timing of your actual date. My money was on you shagging at her birthday party and, I confess, I am disappointed in you.”

Draco asked, “How many people were in on this pool?”

“These three, Gabriel Truman, the Swiss Minister for Magic, the Portugese foreign minister, the entire French delegation, Alicia Weasley, Angelina Johnson-Weasley, the Head Unspeakable, the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, a couple blokes from the Improper Use of Magical Artifacts Office, the entirety of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Harry Potter.”

Draco groaned, “I hate  _ all of you.” _

“Sure you do,” Theo quipped. “Now, tell us how it was.”

“The dates?” Draco shrugged and smiled. “They were nice. We never had time to ourselves before, there was always someone with us. Now I do not worry about whether it is alright to kiss her, to hold her, to just ... I dunno, sometimes I look at her and wonder how the hell she ended up with me.”

“Speaking for all of us,” Theo said, “I think it’s a wonder you stayed apart so long. Even my kids thought you should date her, and they don’t really know what dating means.”

“Well I do,” Bastien cut in with a teasing smile, “and the third date’s coming up. That’s the big one.”

Confused, Draco asked, “The big what?”

“The third date,” Pansy clarified. “You’re finally going to get the,” she closed her eyes and threw her head back, “Ugh, ungh, Draco, yes, more, like that, ungh — ”

Draco threw a biscuit at her and laughed.

“Shut up.”

“True though,” Bastien agreed, “third date’s the sex date.”

“Not for Draco,” Blaise insisted. “He always has sex with someone before things get to that point. It is a prerequisite.”

For the second time in as many days, Draco clarified, “Not for Hermione. I haven’t even thought about it and we have not spoken about it. Are you sure the third date is the sex date? Not, say, the tenth?”

“Are you nervous?” asked Theo.

“I wasn’t until you mentioned it.” Draco let his head fall into his hands and groaned. “God, I am so out of practice.”

“Perk up,” Pansy said, nudging Draco’s leg with her foot, “it’s one of the few things you’re good at.”

“I haven’t had sex since Astoria left me  _ eleven months _ ago.”

“It’s like riding a broom. Once you learn, you never forget how to make someone feel good. But since you are fucking a woman this time, let’s send Blaise to get some snacks. Don’t want his delicate ears having to listen to a discussion about lady parts.”

“Hey!” Bastien shouted in his defense. “Blaise has shagged women before.”

Everyone’s heads swiveled simultaneously to Bastien, who laughed.

“He never told you?”

Blaise flushed bright red as Bastien laughed even louder. 

“Oh, Merlin’s fucking bollocks!” He wiped a tear from his eye. “It must have been four years ago, now, we went to one of those orgy parties at the Silver Snitch. Blaise was drunk off his tits and ladies were all over him.”

Blaise scrunched his nose up and groaned, “It was awful.”

“You had a wonderful time,” Bastien insisted through his laughter. “God, I remember it so well, imagine my shock when he actually made a woman — ”

“Please stop,” Blaise insisted. “How the hell did you talk me into that? Unfortunately, I remember that the foreplay felt like de-seeding a tomato.”

They all burst into fits of laughter and Draco, for a moment, forgot about everything. He was not thinking about how his friends watched everything he ate. (Or didn’t.) All thoughts of the manor renovation were absent. Even Astoria’s voice at the back of his head had gone quiet. 

It was a good time. Pansy caught them up on her time with Katie Bell, which was fairly serious by her standards. Blaise was still enjoying married life; waking up with Dean, shagging Dean, falling asleep with Dean, etc. Bastien and Padma were on a bit of rocky ground, as their jobs took up so much time they hardly had any left for each other. And Theo was hard at work, having taken on a Swiss client who needed a better Foe Glass. It was past five by the time they said their goodbyes and Draco felt better than he had in days. 

**.oOo.**

Saturday afternoon, Blaise stared helplessly into Draco’s closet.

“Why am I here?”

“Because I need help finding an outfit that says, ‘Please, for the love of Merlin, do not have sex with me.’”

Blaise frowned.

“Are you nervous?”

“We are well past nervous, I am  _ terrified.”  _ Draco glanced down at the floor and said, “This has been on my mind all week. I already feel like I am failing her, so I don’t want to tell her I am afraid. I need her to not want me yet.”

“She has wanted to fuck you for months,” Blaise replied. “You do not see the way she looks at you when you are not paying attention. It is like watching a child in Honeydukes when they realize they cannot afford the giant licorice dragon on the top shelf. If your goal is for Hermione not to want you then you don’t need an outfit, you need a Time-Turner.”

Draco groaned and leaned back against the doorframe. Blaise placed a hand on his shoulder and asked,

“Why are you so afraid of something you have done countless times before?”

“Because I haven’t, have I? Dating Hermione is different because all of you, everyone who has been with me like that has only ever seen what I let them. What you  _ wanted _ to see. She sees everything and if I let her touch me ... If we do this then I cannot hide anything from her.”

“I don’t understand.”

Draco closed his eyes and tried to think of a better way to explain it. 

“Gabriel said some things to me that I cannot get out of my head. Once he knew about her condition, he said it was like he saw Romi for the first time. He pointed out all these things about me, about my body that I know Hermione is going to see. Once she does, she won’t want to do this. She will say I have too far to go and ... and ... She’s going to leave me before we have a chance to make this work.”

“You have to stop doing this,” said Blaise. “Hermione probably wants this more than you do. If she didn’t, she would have walked out of your life when you walked out of hers.”

Ouch.

“I know what you felt like when you were in the middle of this ...  _ disease. _ I always knew something was wrong because you never looked quite right in yourself. There was nothing between us because  _ you _ were nothing. Sex was how you continued to play your part, trying to be what the world made you out to be, including me, and you hated every moment of it.”

“I am trying,” Draco insisted, “I am trying so hard to hate myself less, but when I look in the mirror I don’t find anything worth much.”

Blaise leaned against the other side of the doorframe and crossed his arms.

“Do you know why we separated?”

“Because we never wanted it to be anything more than it was.”

Blaise shook his head.

“We separated because you stopped being my friend and became what you  _ thought _ I wanted in a boyfriend! (And thank God, because I cannot imagine my life without Dean.) You are a performer. You try to be what people want you to be, even when it pulls you in more directions than you can count. Perhaps it makes me an awful friend because I never said anything, but you have never been with someone as yourself. Maybe you were with Gabrielle, and that is why you broke things off before they really started. I think you are afraid to shag Hermione because you don’t know what to be for her.”

Draco swallowed thickly and admitted, “You’re right. She wants me to be myself, and I dunno who that is.”

“Then you practice! You figure it out, what works for both of you.”

“But if I am not good enough on the first go — ”

“What? Do you think Hermione has gone through all this just to dump your arse if the sex is a bit awkward? Either way, you know it will not end poorly for her. If I can make a woman come, Draco, you can do it from beginning to end with your eyes closed.” Blaise tilted his head a bit and softened his tone. “Tell me, honestly, what is it you are afraid will happen?”

Draco sighed and groaned, because this is the one thing he didn’t want to tell Penelope. But he had to tell someone, didn’t he?

“I am afraid Hermione will see me without clothes and it will remind her that I’m ill. I am afraid she will feel sorry for me or, even worse, be so turned off that she does not want to go for it. But, of course, I don’t see what she sees. All this weight is heavy and gross and I wouldn’t want to fuck me if I was her. What if she touches me and it feels like Astoria all over again?”

“If you are not ready for this, then tell her.”

“But — ”

“You hate yourself so much and I understand that,” Blaise interjected, “but I cannot understand your lack of confidence in Hermione. You have to trust her to make her own decisions. If she invites you in, then she wants to have sex with you. It is that simple. You are doing all these excess calculations in your head because it is what you always do, trying to figure out what someone wants. The only thing Hermione wants is  _ you.” _

“What if I’m not enough?”

“Look at me and tell me that is a possibility.”

Draco met Blaise’s gaze, but said nothing. It felt wrong, hearing Blaise say it out loud. He hadn’t completely closed himself off to the possibility. Even in his darkest moments there was always a  _ What if? _ to keep him going. Part of him, a small part, looked at his future and saw Hermione everywhere. Draco was not willing to give up on that.

“Tell me you believe you are not enough for her,” Blaise demanded. “That you do not see a future with her, that you could never love her the way I love Dean or the way Theo loves Tracey. Tell me you believe you aren’t enough!”

“I could be!” Draco nodded to himself and repeated, “I could be.”

**.oOo.**

On Sunday, Draco quickly realized his friends were right about the third date. Hermione wore a cardigan over a camisole that was far more revealing than usual. Her skirt was just on the right side of too short and had Draco glancing at her arse any time she stood up from the table. When they were on her doorstep at the end of their date, Hermione asked the question Draco had been dreading.

“Do you want to come inside?”

He thought about it all through dinner. He’d thought about it for ages after Blaise left on Saturday. Draco kept coming to the same inescapable conclusion. He ran a hand across his face before saying,

“I would love to, but I don’t think I am ready for that quite yet.”

Hermione shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Draco asked. “That’s it? I was so worried you would be disappointed — ”

“I am disappointed,” Hermione replied, “but I can wait.”

“You said you were tired of waiting for me.”

“Yes, when you were still sorting yourself out after your ...  _ absence.” _

Everyone implicitly agreed to refer to Draco’s time in Paris with that word. He’d never admit how much he appreciated it. There was not much of a negative connotation. At least, not compared to “that time you left us all for three months” and “that time your friends thought you ran off to kill yourself.” Yes, Draco quite preferred the word ‘absence.’

“You are more to me than sex. You are my boyfriend and there is a difference between hating yourself and recognizing you aren’t ready to take the next step. I’d be more worried if you came in and we did something you didn’t really want to do.”

“You mean that?” Draco asked with a wide grin. “I am your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Hermione said through a laugh, “you are. And I can wait until you’re ready.”

Draco placed one hand on the back of Hermione’s neck and pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. God, it was so easy to get lost in her, to forget about the rest of the world and be unashamed of himself for these few, brief moments. He broke away and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I can assure you, if your skirts get any shorter you will not be waiting long.”


	28. Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco opens up a bit more than he intends to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture  
> TW: candid discussions of sex  
> TW: scene of a mild sexual nature
> 
> Chapter takes place at the end of October, 2007.

“I am still waiting for the right time.”

Draco had been seeing Penelope for nearly nine months, six discounting his time in Paris, and had learned her tells. When she was frustrated by him she would double-tap her quill nib on the parchment and glance at the ceiling like she wanted it to come crashing down. When he kept repeating himself she would say, “Hmm ... I see, so why do you think that is?”

That response received the double-tap. Draco tried to smooth it over with,

“There are a lot of things we can do without me taking my clothes off. Hermione,” he paused to laugh, “she looked at me and said, ‘Obviously, if we cannot use your body then we both have to use mine.’” 

Penelope groaned, “Your impression of her is so accurate that it’s scary.”

“I thought she was speaking of kinky Polyjuice shit, but it was just simple things. We have been,” he awkwardly cleared his throat, “creative.”

“How?”

_ “How?!” _ Draco asked, aghast. “You want me to tell you how we’ve been ... How we’ve ...”

“How you’ve been having sex,” Penelope clarified. “Yes.”

Draco felt himself blush clear down his neck. It was one thing to speak about it with his friends, hell, he’d had sex with most of them, but Penelope? He shifted awkwardly in the chair.

“I get her off however she wants me to, or I watch while she gets herself off. She finishes me off however she likes. It’s been a bit over a month, five times or so. I only see her once a week. Is that ... I mean, is that what you wanted to know?”

“Not really,” Penelope admitted, “I want to know whether you end up doing the bulk of the work.”

“Of course I do. It is my job to make sure she is satisfied, because if she isn’t then I am an irresponsible boyfriend. This is all I can give her right now.”

“Is it?”

Draco said nothing.

“To me, it appears you keep doing all the work and Hermione keeps waiting. You are an actor, you keep doing what you believe everyone else wants you to do. You have made it clear you are not ready for what you believe Hermione wants; the sex and the intimacy that comes with allowing her to see your body as it is now. What I want to know is, are you ready for what you want?”

“I dunno.”

“You don’t know whether you are ready?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Think about it, then.”

Draco gave it time, turned the question over in his head. What did he want? He wondered constantly about how Hermione would feel on top of him. Beneath him. What it would be like to wake up at her side, legs tangled together beneath the sheets. He did not know what was stopping him from acting on those desires.

“Blaise told me I am a performer and you said it again just now, which makes me think back to what you told me all those months ago.”

“Which is?”’

“That I live my life for other people. I am still doing that with Hermione because I am afraid that if we get too close she will see something about me she does not like. I can go down on her or watch her in her intimate moments, but I cannot let her reciprocate. I think it is because there are things about me she does not know, and as long as I keep that shit buried those thoughts will linger. Until she knows everything and chooses to be with me anyway, I do not believe I will be able to let her touch me the way she lets me touch her.”

Penelope asked, “Do you at least feel you are making improvement?”

Draco nodded.

“Are you saying that because it’s what you believe I need to hear?”

“Yes.”

“Right, okay, according to your food diary, you still cannot get above one full meal per day.”

“When I feel like rubbish I flip through it, see all the things I have eaten, and tell myself I am completely worthless with no hope of getting better. My guess is that was not the intended purpose.”

“Definitely not.” Penelope grabbed the small rubbish bin from behind the table and held it out toward Draco. “Toss it in.”

“Sorry?”

“Toss it in. It isn’t working for you, so I have a new approach.”

Draco looked down at the thick stack of parchment in his hands. It was forty-two days of his life right there; forty-two meals, forty-two snacks, nineteen days with Hermione, and his transition from friend to date to boyfriend. All of it was written down right there.

Penelope said, “You’re hesitating.”

“It’s important.”

“But I thought it wasn’t helping.”

“It isn’t, but — ”

“Then it’s rubbish,” she quipped, “so put it in the bin.”

Draco threw the stack in before he could give it much more thought. Immediately, a sense of relief washed over him. As though there was something heavy on his chest and it had finally been lifted off. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back in the chair.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” asked Penelope. “To know you don’t have to look back on it. None of the lingering, flipping through pages because you need reasons to hate yourself even more. Food is something you can forget.”

“More room for me to remember the things I tried to forget.”

“Not so fast.” Penelope wrote something on her parchment then placed her quill back in the inkpot. She looked up and said, “We are going to put you on a schedule.”

Draco nodded.

“Romi’s on a schedule. Is that a normal thing?”

“Everyone is different. Some people write it down, others have a schedule, and there are people who work it out entirely on their own. Some work with a nutritionist to establish a diet as part of behavioural therapy. We have to find what works for you, and it is clear the journaling does not. So we are going to introduce a new habit where you eat once every four hours.”

Draco felt all the blood drain from his face.

_ “Four hours?!” _

Penelope nodded.

“Four hours. You have to eat something. I don’t care whether it is six raspberries or a bloody Christmas dinner, you just have to eat  _ something. _ ”

“I could eat nothing but fruit all day?”

“If that is what you’re feeling, then yes.”

Draco admitted, “That does not sound like it will work.”

“Right now your body hoards energy because you only eat once a day. This will allow your body to trust you again.”

“You have said that before, like my body is separate from  _ me.” _

Penelope asked, “That’s the way you have been treating it, isn’t it? You changed the way you look because you hated it. Now your body is changing and you still hate it. Your body is an extension of yourself, but until you start treating it that way it can only react to what you choose to do to it.”

Draco frowned.

“Wait.” He thought about it for a moment. His eyebrows knitted together when he asked, “My body is an extension of me.”

“Yes.”

“So, if I hated my body ...” Draco rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and said, “If I hate my body then it means I hate myself.”

“Yes,” Penelope confirmed, “you hate part of yourself and we are working to figure out why.”

“I have given you reasons!”

“But you haven’t, have you? You told me you are afraid of becoming another version of your father. You carry guilt from the decisions you made or were forced to make during the war. You feel that you are unlovable. But  _ why? _ What is inside of you that makes you feel this way?”

Draco admitted, “I don’t know.”

“Think on it,” Penelope replied, “and tell me next week.”

**.oOo.**

For Scarlett, it was never too cold to go to the park. If her broom would fly, she would ride it dressed in four layers if she had to. Draco considered casting a spell on the front door to ensure she wouldn’t try to sneak out on her own. Their entire Monday was spent in the house. They made lunch together. They sang loudly to carols on the radio, napped, then woke up a half hour before Tracey was expected back.

Sebastien yawned and asked, “When’s Hermione coming back?”

Draco ruffled his hair and said, “She has to work.”

“Can we see her soon?”

“I will ask her to visit.”

“Did she forget about us?”

“She will never forget about you, I promise.”

Sebastien frowned as they walked downstairs and said, “I miss her.”

“Me too, Seb. She is my girlfriend but I hardly see her. Hermione has a lot of responsibilities now and I dunno how I fit into all that.”

Scarlett added, “When I don’t know something, dad says I should ask.”

Draco laughed.

“I do not think this is the sort of thing you ask about.”

“Why not?”

Draco grumbled to himself when he couldn't find a good answer. After a few unproductive minutes of asking Scarlett and Sebastien what they wanted to do, Draco fell back on the one thing he always did when he was bored: drawing. The three of them took up the entire kitchen table, which was piled high with parchment and ink pots. Sebastien hardly kept the ink on the page, leaving Draco to cast a swift  _ Evanesco _ so often his own quill barely made it to the parchment. Scarlett, on the other hand, was hard at work on a project she refused to let Draco see.

She presented it to him as he left and it rendered him speechless. He stood there, staring at it on the porch for a solid two minutes as his breath crystallized in front of him. It was a drawing she labeled “My Family.” Theo and Tracey were on the left, holding hands. Scarlett had drawn herself and Sebastien in the middle, about half the height of the other figures, high-fiving each other. Scarlett was holding a broomstick and Seb was holding a book. Draco and Hermione were on the right. It wasn’t the inclusion of Hermione that stunned him, but rather that everyone else had round, circular, coloured-in bodies while Scarlett had drawn Draco as nothing but straight lines. 

He was a stick.

Draco stared at the drawing because compared to the others, he looked ill. Draco never looked in the mirror and saw this. Was this how she saw him? Was this how he looked to everyone else? He folded the drawing and placed it in his coat pocket.

_ You feel that you are unlovable. What is inside of you that makes you feel this way? _

Draco was too broken to be loved, and there was only one person who could prove him wrong.

**.oOo.**

Draco couldn’t say why he went straight to Hermione’s house, other than he trusted her to listen. He knocked on her door and when she opened it she seemed surprised, but happy to see him. She was wearing trackies and the Gryffindor hoodie she seemed so fond of.

“May I come in?”

“Yes!” Hermione smiled. “Of course, just put your shoes there and your coat can go in the closet.” She led him into the living area and sat on one end of the sofa while Draco took his place at the other. “Before you say anything, I need to ask you something.”

Draco frowned but mumbled, “Okay.”

“When you’re with me, are you happy?”

“Yes,” Draco said, “and I had almost forgotten what it felt like.”

“I love that I can do that for you,” Hermione replied. She smiled and kicked her feet up into Draco’s lap. “But we don’t have a lot of time together. An hour on Thursday, an hour on Saturday, and Sunday nights? That isn’t a relationship.”

Draco’s heart fell all the way down to land on the floor between his feet. He had to look away and find a nondescript spot on the wall to stare at as he prayed he wasn’t about to become the Gabby. Praying Hermione wouldn’t end things because he was too afraid to let her in. With a shaky voice, he asked,

“What are you saying?”

“The Ministry won’t give me Saturday, but they have given me Mondays off.” She smiled and nudged Draco’s thigh with one foot. “Which means we don’t have to say goodbye on Sunday. Two days of you and me.”

“Truly?”

“If you’d like to,” Hermione amended. “If you aren’t ready for that then you don’t have to sleep over.”

“No!” Draco insisted, “I want that. Penelope pushed me to be more honest and Scarlett made me realize I do not see myself the way everyone else sees me. The way  _ you _ see me. This past week has shown me that I am still hiding from you and I don’t want to do that anymore. If we are going to be together the way we want to be, then you need to understand some things about me.”

Hermione nodded for him to continue. 

Draco took a deep breath and asked, “What do you know about Occlumency?”

“The basics.” Hermione shrugged and looked up at the ceiling, running through all the information she retained. As if reciting it verbatim from a textbook, she said, “It’s the magical defence of the mind against an external invasive force. An obscure, ancient branch of magic that closes one’s mind against Legilimency.”

“Right, and I am fairly adept at it.”

“I’ve heard you are one of the best Occlumens in the world.”

Draco chuckled.

“I always wondered how they determined that honor. Is there a competition I never knew I entered?”

“After what happened at your trial, I think the consensus was that you must be powerful to cause such an intense ...  _ reaction.” _

“I learned it out of necessity. Once the Dark Lord came to live in the manor, there was no hiding from him. My mother was concerned He would use me against my father, rightly so, but not in the way she expected. He had certain views about my ...  _ proclivities.”  _ Draco laced his fingers together and stared at the floor. “He could never know what I was doing during sixth year, how badly I was failing. He couldn’t know that Snape was helping me. There was so much in my head that the Dark Lord could never be allowed to see, so Aunt Bella taught me.”

He felt Hermione stiffen at the mention of his aunt. It sent a whirlwind of emotion through his chest. Shame, regret, chagrin that Hermione was about to see how much he empathised with her pain. Hell, the guilt was crushing him so much he could barely breathe.

“I have a natural talent for hiding bits of myself away. From the time I was sixteen I’ve had my shields up. No one has ever broken through them, but I let them down at the request of the Wizengamot and we all saw how poorly that ended. He was not as strong as you are, though.”

Hermione frowned.

“Are you saying you want me to see inside your head?”

Draco nodded. Hermione pulled a bobble from the pocket of her trackies and tied her hair back. She shook her head.

“Why?” 

Draco looked at her and said, “Because I can’t talk about it! I haven’t told Penelope about these things because I don’t know how. I do not have words for that sort of pain. For years I have kept myself from falling in love because if they see too much of me, they will run away screaming, wondering how the hell I’m alive. If there is one person on this planet strong enough to see what I have been through and not judge me for it, one person strong enough to love me anyway, it’s you. I will drop the shields for you if you are willing to look. If not, then we need to end this before it goes any further.”

“This is an ultimatum, then?”

Draco nodded.

Hermione licked her lips and nodded, “I will do it, but I have a question for you.”

“Go on.”

“You truly believe you could fall in love with me?”

Draco took a moment to process the question, then he laughed. A doubled-over, uncontrollable, wheezing laugh pulled from the deepest part of his chest. He wiped his eyes and tried to get himself under control, because Hermione was staring at him like he had gone mad.

“Don’t you know?” asked Draco. “You are the first person I have ever been with who made me feel it was okay to say no. To say that I was not ready. I spent months thinking you had feelings for another man, only to realize I had been jealous of  _ myself! _ You cared about me enough to become friends with my friends and care for my godchildren when I could not. I want to become part of your life the way you are in mine, but you have to know what you are getting into. I won’t allow you to lead me on only to crush me later because you did not realize how fucked-up I truly am. The problem, Hermione has never been whether I could fall in love with you, but whether you could fall in love with me.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

“So I will drop my shields and you can look at whatever you like.”

“You aren’t planning to direct me?” asked Hermione. “Is there something I should know to look for?”

“You will find them,” Draco replied. “Trust me on that. The Legilimens didn’t make it very far so brace yourself for a rocky start, alright?”

“Draco?” Hermione asked, her face morphing into a concerned frown. She pulled her feet off his lap and knelt on the cushion at his side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and only then did Draco realize he was shaking. “Why are you so afraid to let me in?”

He sniffled, “Because you will see, and then you will leave. Even in the best case scenario you will experience a lot of pain, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hermione placed one hand on Draco’s cheek and turned his face so they were at eye level.

“Nothing will hurt as much as you walking out of my life again.” She kissed him and pulled away before Draco could even shut his eyes. “I didn’t have any claim to you back then, but I hoped we were ready to start something. I feel awful because I couldn’t see that you were still suffering. You are hiding from me and I don’t want you to do it anymore, either. If you believe there is something I need to see, show me.”

Dropping the shields he built around his mind was like falling into a cool stream after spending a week in the desert. Draco closed his eyes and let them fall away. He sagged backward into the sofa and curled up on the cushion, resting his head against the back. It was an odd sort of freedom, not worrying about who could see inside his mind. Years of practicing otherwise, Draco never realized how draining it could be. He tilted his head toward Hermione and, with some effort, opened his eyes.

“Don’t suppose you have done this before?”

Hermione hesitated before cracking a smile.

“You’ll be my first.”

“Safe travels, then,” he teased. Draco swallowed thickly and sighed. “I don’t really know what to say. There wasn’t any foreplay at the Wizengamot, he just sort of jumped in.”

Hermione took his hand in hers and replied, “You should know by now, I like when we start slow.” Without warning, she said,  _ “Legilimens. _ ”

_ Wrong. _

_ Foreign. _

_ Intruder. _

Draco was hit with a wave of dizziness as everything around him lost its colour. He closed his eyes and stopped resisting the push of Hermione’s influence against his mind. While the Wizengamot Legilimens had been brash and dove straight into Draco’s soul, Hermione was tentative. Her influence was gentle as it prodded against the edge of his consciousness. 

_ Relax. _

He didn’t hear the word, exactly, but he could tell Hermione wanted him to calm down. Her influence slowly wrapped around him, as though she was giving Draco a long hug. He gradually warmed to her presence inside his mind; Hermione’s influence grew until it covered him entirely. It took a moment for Draco to realize she was replacing his shields with her own. If he retained any sense of control, Draco would have been rather moved by the gesture.

Hermione quickly scoured the outermost parts of his mind, the easiest places to see, searching for a starting point. He felt safe and protected, which brought out all sorts of shame in all the wrong ways. Did he need someone to take care of him like this? Was he truly so pathetic? Those thoughts were quickly brushed aside as Hermione grabbed hold of a strong memory and dove in. Draco’s eyes rolled upward and everything went blank until he was unceremoniously tossed back into his own body.

**.oOo.**

_ He looks down at the pile of long, white-blond hairs in his open palm. _

_ His stomach tightens up and then seems to fall out of his body altogether. He counts the strands individually, just to be sure. He finds sixteen in the pile. His hand shakes as he realizes this is not a problem he can fix on his own. He tosses the hairs into the sink basin and braces himself against the vanity. _

_ Tears pool in the corners of Draco’s eyes, but he refuses to let them spill over. He has to control something, anything, grasping at the air as any hope of handling this himself fades to nothing. His body shakes so he tightens his hold on the sink. If he can control this, he can fix it. After all, there is one truth to this mess: _

_ He had done this to himself. _

_ He looks up at his face in the mirror and sees nothing. He is not himself, not Draco, not a Malfoy, just another faceless man worth nothing to no one. He taps the toe of one shoe against the bathroom tile then kicks one of the cabinets so hard the door flies open. _

_ “Fucking hell!” _

Draco is pulled out of his body as though hung on a string, dangling in dark nothingness until Hermione finds her next memory.

**.oOo.**

_ He opens his eyes, curled into the fetal position on the bathroom floor. _

_ His left side is leaning against the cabinets below the sink, his head cradled awkwardly between drawers. Draco sobs openly because he knows no one can hear him. Tears are streaming down his face as he wonders how he will live with Astoria moving into the manor, watching his every move. She will know. She will see. She will hate him. _

_ He was going to lose the one woman who looked at him and thought, “Maybe.” He wants to give her everything, to be the husband she deserves, and to make a family together. But it is wrong and he knows it. Astoria does not see him as Draco Malfoy, she sees him as  _ Boyfriend. Partner. Husband. 

Mine.

_ And he wants to be hers because it would be so easy for someone to lead him through life. Maybe if she loved him, truly loved him, he would be able to stop this. He hates himself, but if Astoria loves him that must be good enough.  _ It has to be good enough, because if that isn’t then nothing will ever be good enough.  _ Sobs are wracking through his chest, so heavy he can’t breathe. The only sounds coming out of his mouth are undignified squeaks as he clutches helplessly at the cabinets, unable to stay upright on his own. Unable to stay upright beneath the crushing weight of Astoria bloody Greengrass. _

_ He wipes his nose off onto his sleeve, croaking out, “Why?” _

_ Draco does not know to whom he addressed the question. Himself, perhaps. Why had he let it get to this point? Astoria. Why can’t she love him for the man he is? His father. Why did you let the Dark Lord do those things to me? God.  _ Why the hell did you make me like this? Am I a sick joke for you, a release for when humanity gets too somber? Let’s look down on Draco Malfoy, the man unseen.

_ He needs to keep Astoria in his life but he cannot eat. He needs a new solution, a new option. Draco looks over at the toilet and an idea begins to form. _

_ No one will notice. Nobody sees me anyway. _

Draco is yanked out of his body once again, left to hang in a bleary haze of black as Hermione searches for her next stop on the trail.

**.oOo.**

_ He opens his eyes to see Blaise on top of him. _

_ Merlin’s fucking arse, it is the most gorgeous sight Draco has ever seen. He watches Blaise ride him, crawling closer and closer to release. Draco won’t last much longer, he senses the familiar feeling building in his core. Blaise tosses his head back in ecstasy so Draco wraps one hand tight around Blaise’s dick and pulls. Blaise lets out a long moan; he always likes it rough. _

_ Draco looks down at the place where they are joined together, his dick slipping in and out of Blaise and it is the hottest thing he has ever seen. He nearly comes right then but holds out. He grits his teeth and tugs on Blaise’s dick again, hard and quick, in time with his upward thrusts. Blaise places his hand over Draco’s and pulls even faster until he lets out a soft, breathy moan and Draco watches as Blaise’s come lands on his chest. He grabs Blaise’s hips with both hands, pulls Blaise down on his dick once, twice, and comes so hard his vision whites out. _

_ Blaise collapses on Draco as he pulls out, and they lie there for a full minute, sweat-soaked and sticky. Draco feels the rise and fall of Blaise’s chest against his own, tracing up and down Blaise’s spine with the pads of his fingers. Blaise smiles and rolls off, then rolls back onto his side to press his lips against one of the bruises forming on Draco’s neck. _

_ “That was excellent.” _

_ Draco grins back at him, always a slut for compliments.  _

_ “I love you,” Blaise says into Draco’s shoulder. “You know that, right?” _

_ Draco tries not to stiffen up. He knows. They are best friends; the trust is built into their relationship. It makes it so much harder to know he can’t say it back. _

_ “Yeah, Blaise, I know.” _

_ He Summons a cloth to clean up as Blaise’s eyes flutter shut. He tends to fall asleep right after. The better the sex, the longer he sleeps. Draco was exhausted, too, so he padded over to the bathroom and grabbed a pair of loose pyjama bottoms. He tossed the cloth onto the sink and trudged back to the bed, stifling a yawn. He pulls the duvet out from underneath Blaise’s legs and up to his shoulders, but not without taking a long look at Blaise’s bum. They would have to change the sheets tomorrow. _

_ Draco nestled into the bed, curled up as Blaise instinctively pressed himself against Draco’s back. Even asleep, they are inseparable. It is what love is meant to be, isn’t it? So why isn’t this love? Draco places one hand overtop Blaise’s and shuts his eyes. _

_ Blaise doesn’t see him. He never sees the struggle, the internal battle happening constantly inside Draco’s head. There is always a certain distance between them, somehow even greater in the moments like this when they are closest together. Blaise could have his dick up Draco’s arse and Draco would feel even further away than he did when they were exchanging letters in separate countries. This love is performative, going through the motions of what it should be only to find fool’s gold at the end of the rainbow. _

_ It is Draco’s fault. Blaise could love him if they wanted it to last, but this is not an endgame, it is a reentry into the world of dating. It is easier to put his heart on the line with someone like Blaise, who cradles it like a delicate thing. Draco would do anything to feel like he could do the same, but he doesn’t have it in him. He keeps trying to disappear, and there is not enough of him left to love someone. Not even Blaise. _

_ Draco silently cries himself to sleep. _

**.oOo.**

_ He opens his eyes to see the fifty members of the Wizengamot peering down at him. _

_ Draco is bound to a large metal chair he’d taken to calling the Throne of Shame during the weeks he’d been forced to endure this trial. His wrists are “restrained” by thick cuffs with a wide enough gap for him to pull his hand through. His magic is dormant inside his veins, there but only just out of reach. He resigned himself to Azkaban before the trial began; it is only a formality. It is nearly over now and he is praying for a cell with a window. He wants to keep track of the days and see the stars. Ten years from now, halfway through his sentence, perhaps he will have the courage to throw himself out the window and stop paying for crimes he did not commit. _

_ The Chief Sorcerer leans forward, pushes his glasses up, and asks, “Does the defence intend to call any witnesses besides the young Mr. Malfoy?” _

_ “Yes, your honor,” Draco’s lawyer replies. “The defence calls upon Mr. Harry Potter, Order of Merlin First Class.” _

_ Draco can hardly believe it when the courtroom door opens to reveal Potter standing on the other side. He slowly walks into the room and everyone’s jaws drop at the same moment. For the first time in years, Draco allows himself to hope for something more than prison. _

**.oOo.**

_ The Dark Lord paces about the room. _

_ Draco never understood how an army could be led by this man. Is he even a man? He looks like the lovechild of a snake and a Dementor, with lidless eyes that are little more than red slits. The Dark Lord did not look frightening, but he  _ felt _ terrifying. Dementors felt like death, but they could be controlled. They always answer to someone but the Dark Lord answers to no one, and that unbridled terror is living in Draco’s house. Draco eats breakfast at the same table as the most powerful Dark wizard the world has seen since Grindelwald. _

_ Draco looks outside to see even the sun has chosen to hide itself away from Him today. He picks at the eggs with his fork, but is not hungry. He listens to the argument his father has with the Dark Lord, though it is always one-sided. More like a lecture than a discussion. _

_ “My Lord, if I may say, my son says even the Pureblood students of Hogwarts are beginning to resent the cause because of the Carrows _ _ — _ _ ” _

_ “Please,” scoffs the Dark Lord, “I will not trust your son with anything any longer. He failed his one assignment, saved only by my most devoted follower.” _

_ Aunt Bella squeaks in disbelief from her spot at the Dark Lord’s right. He pays her no mind. _

_ “You do not decide who staffs which positions at Hogwarts anymore, Lucius, the Board of Governors has disbanded. Furthermore, I would not trust you with decision-making. You have not even taught your son how to make a decision about where he puts his cock! I doubt you have any wisdom to impart about things of value.” _

_ Draco lets his shoulder slump, but otherwise gives no indication he heard. He feels his father’s quick, searing glance, as though it wasn’t his goddamn biology that made Draco like this in the first place. _

_ “My Lord, Draco is our best source about what goes on inside the castle.” _

_ “Severus is the best source for what happens inside the castle, Lucius,” the Dark Lord sneers. _

_ Draco barely stops himself from laughing. Snape knows nothing about the rebellion brewing beneath his twisted nose, and Draco was not planning to bring it to his attention. They all deserve what is coming. _

**.oOo.**

_ Draco is curled into a ball in one corner of the drawing room. _

_ “Are your shields up, nephew?” _

_ He trembles. He knows what is coming and wishes he could run away from it, but he has no choice. The Dark Lord will punish him eventually. The Dark Lord will want answers Draco will refuse to give. He sobs outright. _

_ “Please, Aunt Bella, please.” _

_ “Now, now, nephew, it’s not that bad. Just a bit of pain. You’re strong, aren’t you? You can handle it.” _

_ “I can’t.” Draco shakes his head and repeats, “I can’t!” _

_ She waves her wand and even though he knows what is coming, braces himself against it, no one is ever truly prepared for the pain. _

“CRUCIO!”

_ Pain begins just as Draco expects. He has been through this in practice, but Aunt Bella is not holding back. It is like someone has stabbed a dozen knives into various parts of his body and he cannot concentrate on any one pain point. Every nerve in his body is on fire. There is only pain and he is consumed by it. _

_ He screams. The cries tear at his throat until it is raw. She attacks his shields, tries to use the pain as a distraction to break through. Draco forces her out with great effort, and the pain intensifies. _

_ Seconds or minutes tick by, Draco cannot tell. He breaks out in a freezing sweat, an inescapable cold that makes him shiver all the way down to his toes. He runs out of tears, but his shields stay up. There is a voice somewhere begging for it to stop, but it is not his. Draco takes this pain because he refuses to die today. Dying on this floor in this manner serves no purpose and he is meant for more. _

_ Eventually, it ends and the pain subsides. Draco is left a mess on the floor, but he hears the smile in Aunt Bella’s voice. _

_ “Your shields remain intact. The Dark Lord will get bored before you break. Never forget, you are stronger than He will give you credit for. No nephew of mine will break under interrogation! Not even from the most powerful wizard in history! You have made me proud.” _

_ Draco is still curled into the wall. He has not moved. He won’t move for hours. They will practice each day he is home. Every day the pain gets worse, and every day Draco begs for her to stop. Pleads with his parents, but they support this practice because they know the Dark Lord is capable of far worse and Draco must be prepared. _

_ “You are a soldier,” Lucius Malfoy says to his rumpled mess of a son as he pulls him into the hall. “It is time you understand what that means.” _

_ “I didn’t ask to be,” Draco whimpered. “I never asked to be.” _

**.oOo.**

Draco was alone in his mind.

Hermione was gone.

He immediately went to work pulling his shields back into place. Draco felt violated in the worst way. They hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, but she’d seen him bollocks-deep in Blaise. He never intended for her to see that. Never meant for her to see him contemplating suicide at the trial; Merlin only knew what sort of memories that would draw out for her.

“I didn’t know.”

Draco looked over to see Hermione staring at him in some combination of shock and horror.

“I didn’t ...” She clapped one hand over her mouth to hold back a sob. She flung her arms around his neck and mumbled the same phrase into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Draco held her until they fell asleep on the sofa. 

Perhaps he wasn’t unlovable after all.


	29. He Woke Up Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has best friend troubles, but he finally gets some action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place sometime in early November, 2007.
> 
> CW: Bom Chicka Wow Wow (Sexytimes)  
> TW: Internalized homophobia/biphobia  
> TW: Societal biphobia  
> CW: Candid discussions of sex  
> TW: Candid discussion of bulimia & anorexia

Draco woke up on Hermione’s sofa to see her fully-dressed, prepared to head out the door.

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t say anything, it just ... happened? In a way, Draco was relieved not to think about it. She’d gone deeper into his memory than he wanted her to, and deeper than he had looked within himself for a long time.

He went through the motions of eating every four hours, sleeping, and repeating until he was sitting in Penelope’s office on Thursday morning, unprepared to say anything. After a whole minute of silence, Draco finally let it slip.

“I let her in.”

Surprise written across her face, Penelope asked, “You allowed her to practice Legilimency on you? Wow. How was that?”

“It hurt so much,” he admitted. “She saw more than I wanted her to and more than I believe she wanted to see.”

“Let’s talk through it, then.” Penelope rapped her fingernails against the table. “How did it feel?”

Draco shrugged.

“At first I was relieved. I forgot how much effort it takes, how much energy I waste maintaining them. Hermione was gentle at first, replacing my shields with her own, then she dove into my memories and all hell broke loose.”

“That is an interesting approach, trying to make you feel safe even as she was entering a space you rarely allow yourself to enter. What did she see first?”

“The moment I decided to get help.”

“Interesting,” Penelope observed. “Why do you believe she chose to begin there?”

Draco guessed, “I wanted her to see it. She needed to know how far gone I was back then and I do not believe that is something I could tell her. That feeling of helplessness? I cannot put it into words. I remember thinking I could pull myself out of it, but looking at a massive pile of hair in my hand forced me to see I was no longer in control. You said before that no one can pull their own weight through this, and that was the first moment I understood.”

“Tell me about the second memory, then?”

“Hermione unravelled everything with that one. When I speak with Romilda, I never quite understand her experience. I stopped eating because food terrified me, but Romi simply couldn’t stop eating. She ate to fill a void then purge it away when it felt too heavy. I wanted to exist in the void. I wanted to be away from myself, absent in my own body. I often wonder how she did it for so long, because I only turned to the purging when Astoria moved in. I hated the way it made me feel.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“Degraded. Humiliated. And yet ...  _ safe. _ I know that must sound awful, but everywhere has a toilet. No matter where I was, if I had to eat I could always vomit it up in a spare moment. Hermione saw the breakdown I had when Astoria told me she would move into the manor. That was the day I altered course.”

Penelope asked, “Was there more?”

“The third one was ...” He trailed off. How could he explain this? Draco looked Penelope in the eyes and said, “She saw me fucking Blaise.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Why would something like that come after two such painful memories?”

“Blaise told me he loved me, and I wanted to say it back but couldn’t. I felt entirely unlovable.”

“You tie sex to many different emotions,” Penelope observed. “But has it ever made you happy?”

“No, it made me feel loved, though. In those moments I had proper ownership of my own body.”

“Would you say it was a substitute for true intimacy?”

“Absolutely.”

“What did Hermione say about seeing you have sex?”

“Nothing. We woke up and she had to go to work. There was no time to discuss anything, which was probably for the best.”

“Did she see anything else?”

“She saw the moment Potter testified at my trial. Then she saw me at breakfast with the Dark Lord, which I am sure was far more painful for me than it was her.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because my family has always had a certain view of who I can marry. Pureblood society has a certain view on it, too: Pure and female. Draco Malfoy must produce an heir!” he spat. The Dark Lord believed the same. Wizarding society at large also has a very negative view of people like me.”

“Are you referring to people who are bisexual?”

“Of course I am referring to bisexual people!” Draco half-shouted. What a stupid fucking question. “My parents tried to course-correct God only knows how many times. They burn it into you, Pureblood society, telling you it is never acceptable to be on your knees. If you fall to your knees you may as well roll over and present your arse for fucking. That is what they tell you, repeat it until the mere act of kneeling is seen as disgusting. My father told me once, ‘Draco, you can get down on your knees to suck as many cocks as you like, but you cannot drop to a knee and propose to a man.’ What the hell sort of father tells his fifteen-year-old son something like that?”

“Did he say that because he knew you had feelings for Blaise Zabini?”

“Of course he knew! We all have eyes! Everyone is attracted to Blaise, and being his best mate everyone believed we would eventually end up in bed.”

“Why?”

“Because they view me as a whore.”

“Who does?”

“EVERYONE!”

Draco clapped one hand over his mouth, ashamed by his outburst. Penelope, on the other hand, met him with a satisfied smile. 

“We have spoken before about how you allowed Astoria Greengrass to make you into someone you are not. I think you have allowed the rest of the world to make you view yourself as something you are not.”

Draco insisted, “I was never ashamed of having sex.”

“Not until Hermione Granger,” Penelope pointed out.

“She is different.”

“She is different because she is not a substitute. You are being truly vulnerable for the first time, so tell me, do you believe that will make the sex different?”

“I should say no, but it does seem different. It feels like shagging Hermione is a connection I will never want to walk away from.” Draco realized, “Once we go there, I have nothing left to hide.”

“Exactly. So what was her immediate reaction to seeing these things?”

“She apologized a lot; for nothing, for everything, for not asking about any of it. None of it was her fault, but she seemed to internalize it. Those memories hurt her because they hurt me.”

Penelope smiled softly.

“It sounds like she cares for you.”

Draco admitted, “I care for her, too, and I want her to know that. She isn’t fat, but she isn’t thin either. I saw her without clothes for the first time a few weeks ago, and I realized she is fucking perfect while I am nowhere near that. She holds herself well, with the sort of confidence I haven’t had in at least ten years. Yet, I know the way Blaise and Astoria used to look at me. They were always afraid I would break if they touched me wrong. I know Hermione will not look at me the way I look at her, because Hermione looks like she should look, but I don’t look like me.”

**.oOo.**

Their Saturday cooking lesson was tense. About ten minutes in, Draco excused himself to the toilet just to get away from Hermione and Blaise. He took comfort in the fact that neither eyed him suspiciously when he walked toward the bathroom. He finished quickly and paused outside the kitchen when he heard Blaise ask,

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“You have not looked at me since you arrived. Have I done something wrong?”

“No!” Hermione insisted. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” asked Blaise. “The past few weeks, Draco is happier than I can remember him being in years. Even when we were dating there was always something holding him back. I never figured out what it was until ...” He trailed off for a moment and Draco heard him sit utensils down on the cutting board. “Theo, Draco, Pansy, Bastien, and me ... We have been close for a long time. However, I was closest to Draco when he was suffering and I saw all that pain. I never knew what it was, but I never pushed him to say what was wrong. I feel like I failed him, but you have done something none of us ever could. You got him to open up.”

“He finally let me inside his head a few days ago.”

Draco’s heart rate sped up so fast he was afraid they could hear it through the wall. Somehow, he was quiet enough to remain unseen.

“I asked him to let me in once. He said he did not want to hurt me, and I did not want to hurt him, either.” Blaise took a deep breath and said, “Obviously, my life with Dean is the best thing that could have happened to me, but occasionally I wonder what my life with Draco could have been. He is different around Theo, you know. They are brothers while Draco and I are something different. I always feel lesser to him and it is not Draco’s fault, or Theo’s. I have never been able to compete with their relationship. When we were dating I wanted him to want me because then I would know what it felt like for someone to put me first. And Dean does. He loves me enough to be vulnerable in a way Draco never was, but Draco still keeps me out of reach. Just when I thought we were getting closer, now he has found you.”

Draco could practically hear Hermione’s confusion.

“Are you jealous of  _ me?” _

“No,” Blaise lied.

“I saw the two of you together,” Hermione revealed. “His soul is cracked down the middle and it makes everything a bit muddled, but I could tell he has always cared for you. I pulled on one thread of memories and it spiraled to places Draco hadn’t intended for me to see. One of those memories was you.”

“What was I doing?”

“Well, you, um, you were, well ... You were having sex.”

“OH!” Blaise laughed. “God, is that all? That is why you cannot look at me? I thought it was something serious.”

“That isn’t serious?”

“If you believe you are the first person to watch me having sex, Hermione, you are a couple dozen off the mark.”

“But ...”

“Who was on top?”

Hermione sputtered out, “Sorry?”

“I enjoy this a bit too much; Dean hates talking about it, too. It makes him uncomfortable so I tend to wonder what you talk about amongst yourselves. Anyhow, I was asking whose dick was up whose arse.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly, I only wanted to see how red your face would get,” Blaise teased. “You are a delightful cherry colour.”

“My point,” Hermione spat, “was that he cared for you very deeply. He wanted to love you, too, but he was too broken for it to happen.” She paused before admitting, “I think he still is.”

Draco had allowed himself to hope Hermione would see more, see past what happened to him. He was ashamed he fell into that trap yet again.

“I don’t think he will be that way forever,” Hermione added. “I want to be the person he chooses to be with at the end of all this. It was the opposite with Ron because I was constantly convincing myself we could make it through or that we loved each other enough to make our life together worth it.”

“I understand,” Blaise replied. “All of us appreciate your role in Draco’s life. I do not know what Theo and I would have done without you all those months he was  _ absent.” _

“I know my life would be so much less without Draco in it. He wants to have children and be a good father to them, but the thought of Draco starting a family with someone who isn’t me? I can hardly bear it.  _ I _ want to give it to him.  _ Me. _ If I have to be here with him through this, that is a small price to pay for keeping him in my life.”

“You are mad if you think Draco sees anyone else in his future.”

“He doesn’t see anyone else now, but if I waited any longer I would have left him open to other people. What if he met a handsome man and they fell into life together? What if Astoria Greengrass walked back into his life? I want to help him heal; I want to be his girlfriend and anything else that may come after.”

Draco wanted that, too.  _ Desperately. _

“But I am awful at it. I am a horrid girlfriend.”

“Why would you say that?”

Hermione pivoted and asked, “Shouldn’t Draco be back by now?”

“Do not change the subject.  _ Why _ would you think you are a horrible girlfriend?”

“Because I want him to go faster! He has slept with far more people than I have, yet he is too scared to have sex with me. He is too scared to hold hands in public or meet my friends or—”

“Your relationship changes the moment it becomes public knowledge. You both have to deal with additional pressure. He does not want to have dinner with your friends because the last time he did he relapsed so badly we thought he had run off to kill himself. Draco does not want to push himself too far because he is afraid of failing you. Not us, Hermione.  _ You. _ And the sex, well ... That is between you and him. Draco will allow it to happen when he is ready.”

Draco stepped into the kitchen and asked, “Did I hear my name?” Pretending he hadn’t spent the past five minutes eavesdropping.

Hermione tried and failed to school her expression into something resembling neutral. Blaise, on the other hand, acted as though nothing had happened.

“We were just discussing Hermione’s trip down memory lane. Apparently, I was a highlight.”

Draco grinned.

“You were.” He paused for a moment then asked, “You know I love you, right?”

Blaise gave him an almost-convincing smile in reply.

“Yes, I know.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione tugged Draco over the threshold sometime after midnight and kicked her heels off by the door. They’d spent the bulk of Sunday evening doing shots with Katie, Pansy, Padma, and Bastien. Draco toed off his shoes and placed their coats in the closet.

“Do you want to stay over?”

Draco nodded and Hermione couldn’t hide her smile.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, stifling a yawn. “But I do not think I am up for our usual activities.”

Hermione stood on her toes for a quick kiss.

“Having you here is enough for me.”

They walked to her bedroom, both unsteady on their feet from one too many shots of Firewhisky. Draco smiled knowing Hermione would fall asleep in his arms. Hermione turned her back to him and pulled her hair over her shoulder.

“Can you pull down the zip?”

Draco did as she asked and let her dress fall to the floor. She turned to face him and his eyes went directly to her tits. She wore a purple balconette bra and the tops of her nipples were just barely visible. Tempting him, teasing him, if only ...

“I could probably make a decent go of it.”

Hermione laughed.

“This was one of my post-divorce purchases. There is loads more where this came from. I thought that if you finally wanted to ... You know.” She threw her hands in the air and said, “If you finally wanted to then I wanted to look good for you, is all.”

“You always look good to me.”

She smiled and replied, “Tell me that again when we wake up in the morning. I’ll go change into some pyjamas.”

“You can wear that,” Draco teased, “I won’t mind.”

“If it was even remotely comfortable, I would.”

Draco took off his clothes and folded them on the top of Hermione’s dresser, only leaving on his trunks. He crawled beneath the covers and waited for Hermione to come out of her closet. She walked in a minute later wearing nothing but a light blue slip nightgown. Draco rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

“Are you  _ trying _ to kill me?”

“No,” Hermione said as she slid beneath the sheets. She propped her head up on one arm. “You know you don’t have to stay. If you don’t—”

“Stop.” Draco looked over at her and smiled. “Being with you is the easiest thing in the world. I want to be here, I want to fall asleep with you in my arms, and I want to start tomorrow by waking up in your bed.”

She admitted, “I want to be with you all the time. I’ve never felt quite as sexy as I do when you’re looking at me. And I know I don’t look like the other people you’ve dated—”

“No, you don’t. You look like Hermione Granger and it is incredibly sexy. I can see the outline of your tits through your nightdress and you can bet I will be dreaming about them. You make the best faces when you come and I wank to thoughts of you on the days we are not together. Now, I am exhausted and about ninety seconds away from passing out on this pillow, so come here, will you?”

Hermione blushed and flipped over so Draco’s chest was pressed against her back. He laid one arm across her waist and closed his eyes.

“Does that truly bother you?”

She sighed, “A bit, but I know it’s stupid.”

“It is stupid,” Draco agreed, “and I did not date any of those people because they were pretty.” He’d spoken about all this with Penelope, so it was easy to recite from memory. “Gabrielle was kind and made me laugh at a point in my life when laughter had been absent for a long time. Blaise was my best friend. Astoria, for all her faults, helped me to see a future for myself.”

“What about me?”

Merlin’s arse, he was too tired and to come up with a decent answer to that question. So he pulled Hermione a bit closer and said,

“You are the first person to ever make me feel like I deserve to be loved.”

**.oOo.**

Draco was slow to wake the next morning, as the first rays of dawn filtered in through Hermione’s windows. He opened his eyes for the briefest moment before squeezing them shut as he remembered it was the one day of the week he did not need to be up for his morning run with Bastien. Draco relaxed and absentmindedly ran his fingers across Hermione’s stomach. Neither of them had moved much in sleep, too content to change position.

It was nice.

It was soft.

It was perfect.

Draco traced a slow path down her side with his hand, feeling the slip of her silk nightdress beneath his fingers. It had ridden up during the night, exposing most of her thigh. He rested his hand on her upper thigh and traced lazy circles with the pad of his thumb. Hermione’s breaths were slow and even; still sleeping, then. Draco was not surprised, she’d been working six days a week for well over four months and trying to balance his shit on top of it. 

He worked his fingers beneath the hem of her nightgown and rested his hand against the round softness of her belly. God, he could get used to waking up like this. Hermione’s hair was pinned beneath her head and sort of sprouted onto the pillow. Draco smiled and held back a laugh before pressing a delicate kiss to her shoulder.

“‘s nice,” Hermione grumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

Draco whispered, “You should go back to sleep.”

“Hmm ...” Hermione placed her hand on top of Draco’s and moved it slowly downward. She mumbled, “So good with your hands ...”

Draco laughed. She was still half-asleep and hadn’t worn knickers to bed. (A fact Draco was happy he hadn’t been privy to the night before, because he sure as hell would have made a go at something he wasn’t prepared for.) He passed over her clit once then placed his hand on her thigh. She immediately pulled his hand back and rolled her hips, so Draco pressed the pad of one finger against her clit and moved in slow circles.

“Mmhmm ...” Hermione whispered. “Like that.”

Yes, she liked that. Draco had done this a few times and, as she said, she liked to start slow. So he spent a few minutes making light circles over her clit, moving his fingers down to pass across the wet heat at her opening before returning to that sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Hermione flipped over onto her back and looked up at Draco, her eyelids still fighting the pull of sleep. 

_ “Too slow.” _

Draco smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead as he slipped one finger inside her. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed and she smiled, satisfied. Draco laughed.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Feels  _ so good.” _

Draco added a second finger and moved slowly in and out, occasionally using his thumb to put pressure on her clit. Hermione had a certain rhythm he was only beginning to learn, and Draco would spend the rest of his life perfecting it if she’d let him. Even half-conscious, she was very responsive. Hermione pushed her legs a bit further apart, pulled her slip up around her waist, and sat up on her elbows to watch.

“Thought I was dreaming.”

Hermione grinned and he couldn’t help but laugh yet again. She looked ridiculous, with her hair flattened on one side where she slept on it. Hermione pulled him down into a long kiss, threading her fingers through Draco’s hair and tugging a bit. He moaned and broke away to whisper against her lips.

“How do you want to finish?”

“Hands,” she replied, “you’re so good with your fingers.”

Draco nodded and kissed her again. Hermione moaned as he trailed kisses down her neck, and she noticed his dick was rock-hard. He pressed his face into her shoulder and groaned.

“Do you want me to—”

“No, no, you first.”

“But—”

_ “You first,” _ he insisted.

“Fine, I’m close anyway, just ...” She closed her eyes and threw her head back. “A bit faster.”

A minute later, her thighs tensed around Draco’s wrist and she cupped her breasts. A light pink flush traveled from her cheeks down her neck and onto her chest. Her orgasm was a slow build; Hermione shut her eyes and let out a small sigh as she clenched around Draco’s fingers. He pressed the pad of his thumb hard onto her clit and alternated the pressure until Hermione pushed his hand away. She looked up at him from the pillows and said,

“I could get used to waking up like that.”

Draco smiled. Something about that moment, Hermione being completely relaxed and satisfied, made him comfortable in himself. Nothing bad could happen as long as Hermione Granger kept looking at him like that, smiling through a post-orgasm haze. 

“Can you go for one more?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she grumbled. “Two orgasms before breakfast? Such a hardship, what a burden to bear.”

Draco shut her up with a kiss. Hermione laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him on top of her. Draco straddled Hermione’s hips and pulled the slip over her head before tossing it on the floor. His trunks quickly followed. He caught the moment Hermione realized his intent; her eyes went wide and, for the first time since they began dating, she hesitated.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“You are so beautiful and powerful and so goddamn  _ expressive,” _ Draco replied, not quite sure that was actually an answer to her question. But all he could think about was being closer to Hermione. Being  _ inside _ Hermione. “And I don’t know how the hell I waited this long.”

Draco took Hermione’s face in his hands and kissed her, hard. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss, trying to say all the things he couldn’t put into words.  _ I want this. I want you. I am terrified you won’t enjoy this as much as I know I will.  _ She spread her legs and Draco broke away to situate himself between them. He bracketed his arms on either side of Hermione’s head as she locked her ankles at the base of his spine.

He slid inside and met no resistance. Hermione rolled her hips the moment he bottomed out inside her, and Draco stifled his groan in a pillow.

She insisted, “You don’t need to be quiet.”

“I haven’t done this in about a year,” Draco admitted as he moved the slightest bit inside her. “God, you feel so good.”

“I dunno how you can look so good in the morning,” Hermione replied. She glanced down to where their bodies were joined together as Draco pulled out before slowly sliding back inside. “I don’t want you to hold out, just take what you want.”

Realizing there wasn’t any expectation for him to last, Draco let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God.”

He buried his face in the spot where Hermione’s neck joined to her shoulder and snapped his hips, trying to bury himself as deep inside her as he could. She bit down on the spot right above his collarbone and sucked until she was certain it would leave a mark. Draco moaned at the gesture of Hermione staking claim to him. He was hers. Draco palmed one of her tits and she pushed her hips forward in time with his thrusts. He felt the familiar sensation building low in his stomach.

He grumbled, “Are you close?”

Hermione grabbed her other breast and nodded. She pressed her fingers against her clit and instinctively rocked up against Draco, who was so goddamn close, were it anyone else he would be embarrassed but Hermione was watching him with rapt attention. Draco watched as she glanced down again to see him pull out then slam back inside her.

_ “Harder,” _ she begged.

Happy to oblige, Draco let himself fall on top of her and repeatedly slammed his hips so hard her tits bounced. She grasped at the sheets trying to steady herself. Hermione ran her hands up and down Draco’s arms before wrapping her arms around him.

_ “You first.” _

Twice more and Draco was gone. His vision whited out and relief washed over him as every bone in his body turned to liquid then froze over again. He couldn’t move. Nothing existed except his dick, and he came harder than he ever had, completely spent inside Hermione. Then he was suddenly slammed back into his body by the crushing weight of reality. Just in time to see Hermione staring at him, eyes wide, hips rocking upward until her entire body tensed underneath him. She arched her back and groaned,

“God, yes,  _ perfect.” _

Draco pulled out after she came down from her own high and collapsed on the bed next to her. He stared up at the ceiling and smiled, a bit delirious.

“Watching you come inside me was amazing,” Hermione said, breathless. “Worth the wait.”

“Agreed.”

She rolled onto her side to ask, “Why now?”

Draco shrugged.

“Because it felt right.”

“I’m glad. Tell me, though, do I still look good to you in the morning?”

He leaned up to kiss her and replied, “You have never looked better.”


	30. Confessions of a Mid-Twenties Drama Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco realizes he might have a real future with Hermione and he might have lost Blaise in the process.

“HERMIONE!”

Sebastien was far more excited to see her than he was to see Draco. She scooped Sebastien up into a hug as Scarlett tugged on the leg of Draco’s jeans. He knelt down so she could whisper in his ear.

“I’m happy she’s back.”

“Me too.” Draco whispered his reply. “Me too.”

The day went by quickly. The twins spent hours showing Hermione what they had been doing during the past six weeks. Scarlett learned how to care for her broom, courtesy of Draco. Sebastien went through all the new facts he had learned about dragons and their different species. Draco focused on Hermione’s reactions to the twins’ enthusiasm. As she watched Sebastien flip through his book to point at different dragons, Draco wondered why she never tried to have children with Weasley.

Or had she? Draco asked when the twins were down for their nap. Draco and Hermione were on the living room sofa, staring at the fireplace. Hermione grimaced at the question and began to pick at her thumbnail.

“We were young and I was working my way up at the Ministry. Order of Merlin First Class will only get you so far, at least that is what I told Ronald.”

_ Oh. _

Hermione took a deep breath before she continued.

“I think I will be a terrible mother. Truly, there are so many opinions on what is right and not a lot of facts. I cannot study how to be a good mum, I have to figure it out myself. Ron wanted loads of kids like his parents, and what I told you at our first lunch was true, I never wanted it.”

“I disagree,” Draco replied, “I think you will be a great mother.”

Hermione laughed low in her throat.

“We haven’t had a fight yet,” she cautioned. “You’ll think differently then.”

Draco remembered what Bill said a month earlier:  _ Hermione is violent. _ He knew as much, but had she outgrown it? Hermione exhibited a lot of self-control in their relationship. 

“I believe if you decided to have a child you would make mistakes and learn from them. Learning is what you are good at, and you have always fought for what is right. That is the sort of example a parent should set for their child: do what is right. You are the only person in our world, literally the only person, who believes house-elves should be free. Yet you carry on this one-woman crusade because it is right. Maybe you will be shit at changing nappies and emotional support, but that is why you would have a partner who understands those things better than you do.”

“Well I’m sure you had loads of experience with the twins.”

“Of course. I can change a nappy quicker than Theo and Tracey combined.”

Hermione laughed.

“Since we are on about personal insecurities, why doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

Draco realized he hadn’t properly stated the question. He rephrased,

“Why don’t you care that I have been intimate with men?”

Hermione frowned.

“Why should it bother me?”

“Most people call me a whore and tell me to ‘pick a side.’ Astoria shagged me any time I looked at a man ‘the wrong way,’ like she could fuck that part out of me or something. But you have never fallen into the category of most people, so I suppose I should not be surprised.”

“No.” She grinned. “The logic on this is fairly simple. You seem to be attracted to me — ”

“So much.” Draco leaned forward to kiss her for a brief moment. “Everything about you; your ambition, your power, your tits ...”

Hermione teased, “You don’t give my bum enough attention.”

Draco smiled softly and said, “I hope to experience it more before passing judgement.”

Hermione laughed and leaned back into the cushion. It was nice to watch her relax. Knowing he had the power to do that for her, that he could make her comfortable? It was part of Draco he hadn’t realized was there.

“I see it like this,” Hermione said. “You are attracted to me and you are my boyfriend whom I trust not to cheat on me because you are not that sort of person. You also look at Viktor Krum the same way I look at him. Why would I judge you for thinking Viktor’s good-looking when I, myself, think he’s good-looking? Why would I judge you for wanting to have sex with him when I can personally attest to it being a very good time? It makes no sense.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm? Why the hmm?”

“That seems too easy.”

“Nothing about this relationship has been easy. It took us six months to admit we wanted the same thing. Three of which were spent — ”

“I am not sorry for that,” Draco cut her off. “I am sorry I did not tell you goodbye, but I needed to leave. I would not let all of you watch me relapse; you did not need to see that.”

“I saw enough,” snapped Hermione. “You came back looking like you were days away from death. Do you realize that? Do you understand how terrified I was of losing you? I am still afraid of saying the wrong thing or moving too quickly. And I don’t have anyone to go to about it because none of my friends know.”

“You haven’t told them?”

“This is not my problem to tell.”

“I thought Potter knew.”

“He has suspicions but I never confirmed it.”

Draco insisted, “You should tell him. I cannot imagine going through this alone, but that is what you are doing, isn’t it? They believe you have a difficult enough time dating me because I am  _ me, _ but you deserve to speak to someone about what is really happening. I think he and Ginevra would be a bit more understanding if you told them. Perhaps you should consider going back to see Padma.” He paused briefly. “Weasley does not get to know.”

Hermione nodded, “Okay.”

Draco wondered, “What do they say about us?”

“Harry thinks we can make this work, but I don’t believe he thinks it is the best option for either of us.” She shrugged. “Perhaps he is right and there is someone who should work better for me, but I have never wanted anyone the way I want you. I want to come home and tell you about my day, listen to yours, order takeaway or try and fail to make a meal, then fall into bed. When I look at the sort of future I want, you are in every part of my life. A true partnership, which Ronald and I never had.” Hermione frowned. “Have I said too much?”

“No! Not at all.”

“What does your future look like, then?”

Draco tugged Hermione close and kissed her, one hand at the small of her back and the other supporting her neck.  _ You, _ he tried to say,  _ my future looks like you. _ She was kissing him back, completely pliant in his arms. There was freedom in it because she’d had her hands on every part of Draco and she  _ knew _ what he did to himself. She knew how far he had to go and she was still there, snogging him, discussing a future together. Draco broke away and rested his forehead against hers. Hermione smiled softly, her eyes staying shut for a few moments before looking up at Draco like he was Christmas come early.

“The only thing I want is to make my own family and do it better than my parents. I want to love someone and have children of our own, and I really hope it is with you.”

He wanted to claw the words out of the air the moment he said them. That was not a confession meant for a relationship that was only two months old, but Hermione didn’t seem to mind. If anything, her smile got even wider. This wasn’t really the two-month mark, was it? Eight months. Fifteen years, even? Their lives were intertwined far before they needed to be.

Hermione admitted, “I love that family is the most important thing to you.”

“It is not to you, though, is it?”

She shook her head.

“You keep saving the world and I will be at your side as long as you want me here.”

“SCAR!” Sebastien shouted from the doorway. “UNCLE DRACO IS SNOGGING HERMIONE!”

Scarlett ran inside, mid-yawn, and smiled. Apparently their nap had ended prematurely. She turned to give her brother a high-five. Hermione’s cheeks turned a bright pink colour, but all Draco could do was laugh.

“You caught us, didn’t you?”

“Yeah we did!” Scarlett shouted back, pumping her fist in the air.

Hermione glanced over at them and said, “Guess there’s no reason to hide it, then.” She pulled Draco down into an exaggerated snog, wrapping her arms around Draco’s shoulders as his lips parted so she could deepen the kiss. 

“EW!”

“GROSS!”

Draco collapsed on top of Hermione, laughing as they listened to the twins run back into the kitchen. He kissed her cheek and admitted,

“I enjoy being around you, Granger.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Malfoy. Are you coming home with me tonight?”

Surprised, Draco asked, “Do you want me to?”

Hermione pressed her hips up against him and said, “Two before breakfast, maybe you can make it two after dinner?”

**.oOo.**

The first photos of Draco and Hermione together appeared in Wednesday’s  _ Witch Weekly _ . They were candids, nothing more than the two of them holding hands in Diagon Alley, but it was enough to fuel gossip. The entire Wizarding world seemed to have an opinion on their relationship. 

Dean summoned Draco to the house on Thursday but did not say why. Only that it was “an emergency.” He greeted Draco at the door but did not let him in.

“I found him like this a few hours ago. He didn’t come to bed last night so my guess is he’s been up since he saw them.”

“Since he saw — ”

“The photos, Malfoy.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and huffed, “The photos.”

“Why would that upset him?”

Dean glared at him and it occurred to Draco rather belatedly he’d never seen Dean truly angry before. Wasn’t aware he was capable of anything remotely resembling fury, but there was a fire in his eyes Draco did not want to test.

“You are a smart man, but you are blind when it comes to him. I thought you knew what your Saturdays took out of him, but you don’t. You don’t see how much he struggles knowing he helped to bring you and Hermione together.”

“Why — ”

Dean tightened his grip on the door.

“I was worried when we began dating because he is friends with you, someone who shared his bed for a long time. I understand your role in his life, but I don’t think you do. Blaise is my world, Malfoy, and I will not let anyone hurt him, do you understand?”

Draco swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Do. You. Understand?”

It was a bit scary, being threatened by someone whose darkest trait seemed to be his loathing for a Muggle football team. Draco nodded, scared and confused.

“If you don’t fix this, you will not be allowed back.” Dean stepped aside and opened the door. “I care about him too much to watch this shit happen any longer.”

What the hell was he talking about? Draco half-ran inside and found Blaise in the sitting room, standing in front of the fireplace.

“Blaise?”

His head snapped up. Without turning, he shouted, 

“DEAN!”

Who came into the room, bundling himself up in a large coat. 

“I am going out. It will be a couple hours before I return, so do not rush on my account.”

Blaise turned to face his husband and his shoulders slumped.

“Why did you bring him here?”

“Because I am your husband and I love you. Work it out.”

Then he was gone. 

Draco turned to Blaise and asked, “What the fuck was that? He looked like he was about to curse me.”

Blaise crossed his arms and slid one socked foot across the hardwood. 

“His concern is misguided. I am fine.”

“Dean was one wrong word from stuffing his wand up my arse, and not in a fun way.” Draco noted the deep circles under Blaise’s eyes. “You are not fine.”

Blaise shrugged.

“I was not ready to be third.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now you have Theo and Hermione, then there is me. I had only just gotten used to being second, and now ... Now you have her.”

“Are you jealous of Hermione?” Draco asked, incredulous.

Blaise nodded.

“Why do you believe this is a competition?”

“It is!” Blaise shouted back. “Our relationship has always been different from the one you have with Theo. You have been the most important person in my life since I met you, but I have never truly been that for you.”

“We were seven.”

“I was old enough to know when I was and was not wanted.”

“And I wanted you to be my friend. I have always wanted that.”

“But Theo had seven years with you that I did not. Theo is different, closer — ”

“Theo is my brother! Not by name or blood, but borne of circumstance. He has been with me as long as I can remember, and I for him, but you know this! He is not more important to me, it’s just different. You are different.”

“Which is why you go to Theo first!”

Draco forced himself not to roll his eyes. Blaise had never been insecure about much of anything. In the twenty year he’d known Blaise, Draco could only think of two insecurities: his relationship to Dean and his relationship to Draco. It must have sat there inside him, twenty years of envy which built up until Blaise could barely breathe.

Draco said, “Second year when I realized I might be bisexual, I went to Theo. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“I didn’t know until I realized I wanted to kiss you.”

Blaise’s entire body froze like he’d been Stunned. Draco had never spoken about this, at least not since he was twelve. He remembered the moment perfectly. Blaise walked into the dormitory after a shower, he smelled like vanilla, and Draco’s heart had done a weird flip. It was so mundane, but arguably one of the defining moments in his life. The ensuing panic was enough to drive him back to Pansy as they suffered through the same ignorance.

“I have always been attracted to you, and that is fine. Our relationship has changed. We were childhood friends then boyfriends and now you are my most invaluable friend. My recovery did not really begin with Penelope, it began with  _ you.” _

“But — ”

“Shut up!” Draco shouted. “You are my best friend. Theo is stuck with me because we are family and I am godfather to his children. Hermione likes me, she fucks me, and Merlin willing one day she will love me. But she is only with me as a romantic partner. Blaise, you are the only person who is in my life because you choose to be there. Do you understand how important that is?”

“But I saw it.” Blaise choked on a sob as he repeated, “All the pain you had, I saw it.”

Draco frowned. He’d never seen Blaise cry like this. Never knew he was capable of those chest-racking sobs. He wiped snot away from his nose before he found his voice.

“I-I would hold you and be afraid t-to break you. But I was so-so selfish I kept you close without asking how to help because I was afraid. Always afraid it did-didn’t matter unless it came from Theo. Oh, God .... I could have spared you years if ...”

“No,” Draco insisted. “If you had pressed me on it you would have lost me just as Astoria did. I needed love, needed to feel that it was okay to be me. You gave that to me when I needed it.”

“But I let you suffer.” Blaise clutched at his chest like he’d prefer to rip his own heart out rather than confess his guilt. “I would do anything for you but I failed.”

“No, you would not do anything. If I was better, if Hermione was not in my life and I was better would you leave Dean?”

Blaise shook his head.

“Exactly! You have both Dean and me in your life because he is perfect and you love him differently from how you love me. There is no competition, Blaise. None. I will always love you and want you in my life.”

“But why?” Blaise collapsed onto the arm of the chair behind him. “I have been so, so angry at you since you told me about your illness. I was angry that you never told me and upset my wedding caused you to relapse. Then I realized it was my fault for not being a trustworthy enough friend for you to tell. It was my fault for asking too much of you at the wedding, for putting you in that position. I should have had Bastien or Theo with me — ”

“Don’t say that. You married the kindest, most warm-hearted person in the world and you wanted me by your side when you did it. I had the privilege of giving my best friend to the man he loves, and it is one of the best moments of my life. Yes, I was jealous. I still do not believe Hermione will love me the way you two love each other because I am broken beyond repair, but that is not on you. The reception was Weasley and Potter and Hermione and Astoria and everything I hated about myself. I should have known better than to go; Hermione even warned me against it. It was not your fault.”

“When you came back — ”

Draco conceded, “You were a dick. That was fine, I deserved it.”

“But — ”

“Just stop it, Blaise! Stop looking for reasons to feel guilty. If I blamed you for anything you would know it. I came to you first about my anorexia, not Theo. I came to  _ your bloody restaurant _ in Paris because to pull myself out of whatever right state I was in, I needed to feel closer to my best friend. Yes, you have yelled at me and kept silent about my problems when you could have said something. But you also singlehandedly showed me how to look at food in a different way. Hermione didn’t do that,  _ you did. _ You held my heart in your hands, Blaise, and you were so gentle with it. You have never been anything but gentle with me because you are my closest friend, my confidant, the man I would trust with my life because you could have left after I told you about my anorexia and you didn’t.”

Blaise looked up into Draco’s eyes and said, “I never knew you saw me that way.”

Draco shrugged and admitted, “Perhaps I should have told you.”

“Yes,” Blaise croaked out, a very un-Blaise-like sound. “You should have told me.”

“Now you know.”

Blaise sighed heavily and wiped another tear from his cheek.

“Is this how you have felt the entire time? I have so much guilt and never believed I could be enough of a friend for you.”

Draco nodded. Blaise stood up and pulled Draco into a tight hug. Draco wrapped his arms around Blaise’s middle and leaned against him.

“I tore myself apart until I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Then something would hurt me and I would do it again and again and again until there was hardly enough of me left to be called a person.”

Blaise looked Draco in the eyes and replied, “I have never seen you as anything less.”


	31. What Do You Bring?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has fit Hermione into his life, but Hermione has a much more difficult time getting her friends to accept him. No one handles it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vomiting/purging  
> TW: Biphobia  
> TW: Coarse language

Draco hated Christmas.

Not that all of it was bad; everyone spent the day at Theo’s house. Draco loved watching Scarlett and Sebastien open their presents on Christmas morning, their faces lighting up with the sort of joy only children experience. He always got a laugh in the weeks leading up to it as Blaise struggled to find Dean a gift. Pansy stuffed sex toys in everyone’s stockings and Bastien was always late because he was up late shagging a gorgeous woman on Christmas Eve.

Unfortunately for Draco, Christmas meant _food._

On the morning of December second, Draco did not wake up until the sun was lighting up Hermione’s bedroom. Her head was pillowed on Draco’s chest and they lingered like that for awhile. He cancelled on Bastien and their run for the third Saturday in a row so he could wake up just like this. (Bastien’s response was, “Sex is more effective cardio anyway.”)

Hermione asked, “What are you doing for Christmas?”

Draco shrugged. Sunday mornings were his favourite time of the week. Over the past three weeks he spent Saturday evening through Tuesday morning with Hermione. The uproar surrounding their relationship continued, but everyone around them either already knew or learned to deal with it.

“Harry and I usually have dinner with the Weasleys.”

“Then ...” Draco trailed off. “What are we doing for Christmas?”

“I spend Christmas Eve with my parents. They don’t expect to meet you until we’re further along in this relationship, but your parents ... Things are different with you, is all.”

“My plan,” Draco admitted, “was to keep you as far away from them as I could. My mother says they will accept my choice in this, but I spent the first twenty years of my life listening to them curse Muggles and Muggle-borns. I am certain ‘acceptance’ simply means they will do whatever it takes for me to remain in the manor.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco grumbled, unsure he could give her a proper understanding before he had so much as brushed his teeth.

“When I was dating Blaise, my father insisted I break off the relationship so I could date a woman. Not that he has much against me being with men, let alone one as good-looking as Blaise, except that I owe the Malfoy line an heir. I never intended to marry Blaise, however, I never wanted to rule out a serious relationship with a bloke down the line. I will marry whomever I choose, man or woman, and my parents get no say in it.”

Hermione snuggled closer to Draco and held him a bit tighter.

“You want them to approve.”

Draco sighed, “Yes, I do.”

“And I like to think I make you happy—”

“You make me happier than I have been in years.” Draco pressed a kiss to the top of Hermione’s head and said, “These mornings? I never allowed myself to feel _this_. Happiness that doesn’t come from anything other than being with you. I know we have been together less than three months, but this is the happiest I’ve been since the twins were born. I love being in their lives but they are not my kids. To them I am ... peripheral.”

“They don’t think of you like that.”

“But one day they will.”

“Let’s show everyone we are happy, then! One day we could be a family.” Hermione rolled off of Draco and onto her pillow. As she stared up at the ceiling she wondered, “Is it okay for me to say that?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

She took a deep breath and admitted, “When I saw you at Clearwater & Patil for the first time, you looked awful but I never considered anorexia. When we had lunch, I thought you were nice. I thought you were gorgeous, but I believed that even when you were a colossal prick to me, and wondered whether there might be a chance we would sleep together. Just once, you know, perhaps a few times because I wondered what it would be like.”

Oh.

“When you finally told me what was wrong I couldn’t believe it. How could someone with so much pride do that to himself? I spent all day that Thursday trying to work it out, but by Friday I realized maybe you hated yourself as much as I used to. That Saturday, I think, is when I decided to be your friend. I cared about helping you because something inside you had changed.”

Nearly everything in him had changed.

“It wasn’t until we were out with the twins that I realized I wanted to date you. The way you are with them is in complete contrast to the man I assumed you would become. I thought you would be like your father, you know? Spoiling them, unable to show decency to people like me and unable to be a proper father, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“By all means,” Draco replied, “whatever you say about him will pale in comparison to how it felt to be his son.”

“You could have become him and you didn’t. You hated Care of Magical Creatures and yet you will listen to Sebastien speak about them from sunrise to sunset. Everyone sees so much of you in Scarlett; I think she is more you than either of her parents would like her to be. You never push her to do anything except keep others in mind when she makes her choices so she will not become the arrogant prat you were. I see that you are ready to be a parent, that you are ready to love a family of your own, and everyone else knows it. The only person who can’t see it is you and that is what anorexia really took from you. Not your body, not your friends, it took your reflection. What you see is not what everyone else sees.”

Wow.

_Wow._

Draco didn’t know what to do or what to say. He closed his eyes and relaxed back into the pillow.

“Then,” Hermione continued, “you kissed me and I couldn’t stay away. I imagined you waking up like this with someone else and couldn’t bear the thought. The fear about you relapsing or me not fitting in with your world and you not fitting into mine—”

“Well you have not introduced me to your world, have you?”

“I want to! Ron and Harry agreed to have dinner with us next week if you want to come. You have introduced me to almost every part of your life, and I want to make you part of mine because I love you.”

Draco’s eyes flew open and he rolled onto his side.

“What did you say?”

Hermione smiled.

“It may be a bit soon to say, but I think you should know. I want this and I want my friends to see just how much I love you.”

Draco pulled Hermione on top of him and snogged her as hard as he could. He felt her tits press against his chest through her nightgown and managed to get his fingers tangled in her hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her as close as she could get, never wanting to let go of this moment.

“I love you more,” he said against her lips. “My heart is in your hands, Hermione Granger, and I don’t think there is a safer place it could be.”

**.oOo.**

The strangest thing about meeting Hermione’s friends was that Draco knew them all. They planned to meet at a posh place in Ravenswood. Draco and Hermione were last to arrive and Draco couldn’t quite bring himself to go inside. He stared at the door, watched as people came in and out, but his feet wouldn’t move.

“Draco, I’m cold.”

His feet didn’t care. Hermione sighed heavily, her breath crystallized in a thick cloud around her lips.

“If you don’t want to do this, we can leave.”

Hermione looked wonderful. She pulled her hair back and wore a lovely silver robe beneath her coat, though the chill was bitter enough to seep through.

Draco insisted, “I have bailed on too many parties. I cannot keep leaving when this gets difficult, I have to move forward.”

“If this hurts you, then it’s on me,” replied Hermione. “I never want to hurt you; you only have to tell me whether you’re up for it.”

“I am doing this.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” She repeated, “Are you up for this?”

“Yes.”

Draco bolted through the door before he could convince himself otherwise. Someone took his coat and Hermione took his hand to lead him toward a table at the back. He caught sight of Other Potter first and tried to relax. He almost liked her. She never took shit from anyone, and there were so many years where Draco wished he could have been like that. 

When he arrived at the table, Potter stood to shake Draco’s hand. It was a quick shake, not a moment longer than necessary, but Draco appreciated the respect. Weasley remained seated but gave him a cursory nod. Hermione glared in Weasley’s direction but Draco sat down anyway. That was not a battle he had the energy to fight.

“This is weird as hell,” said Mrs. Potter.

Alicia raised her glass and said, “Agreed,” before tossing back at least half a glass of wine. Evidently it would be _that_ sort of night. The meal was awkward, but mostly fine. Weasley kept his rude comments to a minimum, Potter pretended Draco wasn’t there, and Alicia was trying desperately to get sozzled.

Hermione was the one on edge, as if a single wrong word would cause the entire evening to fall apart. Her smile did not quite reach her eyes, she only spoke when spoken to, and her fingers were nearly tight enough to bend her fork. She was far more nervous around her own friends than she ever was with Blaise; perhaps they should have invited him and Dean as a buffer. (A thought gained too late.)

Still, Draco caught himself looking at her throughout the meal. The only reason they were out with her friends was because she said the words Draco had been so desperate to hear. _I love you._ Desperate to hear those words and have it feel real. Loving Hermione Granger was the easiest goddamn thing in the world. 

“How did this happen?” Alicia Weasley’s voice cut through Draco’s reverie. “How the hell did you two decide dating was a good idea?”

Draco felt Hermione stiffen under the table. Only Potter and Weasley knew about Hermione’s time at Clearwater & Patil. Only Potter and Ginevra— _Ginny,_ as she’d insisted repeatedly—knew about Draco’s anorexia. Hermione did not say anything, just sat there like she’d been on the wrong end of a Freezing Charm. 

“We bumped into each other in Helga’s Kitchen and Hermione asked me to lunch,” Draco finally said. He was a good enough liar for this half-truth. “We both had awful days and had already seen the worst in each other. It is easier to talk shit with someone who does not give a fuck about your life, I think.”

Hermione laughed, a genuine laugh, for the first time since they began eating. Draco picked at his half-finished chicken. Had he eaten enough for it to go unnoticed? 

“Then we had lunch again, and again, and then we were friends. It happened and neither of us really noticed.”

“I never believed he would go for it until he snogged me,” Hermione replied with an embarrassed smile.

“You never thought _I_ would go for _you?!_ ” Draco asked, incredulous. “I still have difficulty believing this is real because you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Potter gagged and Hermione kicked at his leg under the table. She laughed and said,

“Stop it!”

“God, but it’s _Malfoy._ ”

Hermione threatened, “Be nice or I’ll start talking about the sex.”

The entire table groaned in unison. Weasley looked like he might vomit, Potter shook his head so quickly it was liable to fly off, and Alicia’s nose was scrunched up in disgust. Draco couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Their friends were so different; Draco never had trouble talking about sex. It was everything else he had a problem with. Perhaps that was it; Hermione had so many more important things to do, to say, that sex was rarely a factor in conversation.

What did it say that sex was such an easy topic for Draco, then? Did that make him the slut everyone believed him to be? Hermione sensed his unease and placed a hand on his thigh beneath the table. He set his fork down and took her hand in his, wordlessly promising to make it through.

That went to hell at the end of the meal courtesy of Ronald fucking Weasley. 

He asked, “So how does it work?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“How does what work?”

“Well you were with Zabini, so you liked blokes. Now you’re with Hermione so ... You don’t like blokes after all?”

“Oh my God, Ronald!” Hermione shouted.

Draco’s hands stilled awkwardly above his plate. Potter grimaced and Ginny looked ready to throw the contents of her wine glass in her brother’s face.

“What?” asked Weasley. “It’s just different.”

Potter said, “Dean was with Ginny but you never asked him whether he really liked blokes.”

“Because Dean’s gay, Zabini’s gay, and Seamus is gay. Malfoy’s not, but he _was_ , and it’s just different, is all.”

Draco’s instinct was to lunge at Weasley over the table and put a fork through his eye. He took a long, slow breath in as he considered the alternatives. These were Hermione’s friends, shit as they were, so he resolved to work through it. He had to find a way to bring himself back to reality and gain common ground with Weasley. 

“Allow me to explain it in a way your Troll brain can handle.”

“You bloody—”

“Shut up!” Draco shouted. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look, he felt their eyes on him but he didn’t care. Not when Ron Weasley was trying so desperately to humiliate him. “You insulted my sexuality in front of my girlfriend, so you will sit there and you will listen to me and thank Merlin that I haven’t decided to part your bollocks from your cock.”

Weasley swallowed thickly and his glare was fit to kill, but he said nothing.

“I still like men,” Draco said. “It is not something that goes away, I like them differently, but when Hermione finally comes to her senses and leaves me I will still be interested in both women and men. You and I can agree the pool of people willing to date me is so small I’d rather not limit it to one gender.”

Weasley nodded.

“As for Blaise, our relationship was wild and fast and amazing, but our friendship was more important. The longer we were together, the more it became apparent that it was one or the other. We chose our friendship and I expect you can understand that.”

Weasley nodded again.

“So what’s it like, then?” Alicia asked, the words slurring together a bit. “The two of you. Dating, I mean.”

Hermione smiled softly and picked at the food remaining on her plate.

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Draco smiled back, “it is. This is the happiest I have been.” _Since my anorexia began all those years ago._ Draco didn’t need to say it, but Potter heard it. The recognition was plain on his face. 

“Really?” Alicia asked. “She makes you happy?”

“All the time. I love making food together. I love teasing Blaise and Dean about how adorable they are around each other because now they throw it back in my face. Of course, my godson likes Hermione better than he likes me but I cannot truly blame him for that. I like her better than me, too.”

“You are a romantic sap,” Hermione said before kissing Draco on the cheek. She smiled up at him. “Not that I mind.”

“I mind,” replied Potter. “I definitely mind.”

“Sod off,” Draco said with a smile. His cheeks had gone hot at her words. Everyone was looking at him with various degrees of confusion. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Draco Malfoy has a beating heart, I know that must be news to all of you.”

Alicia asked, “What do you even bring to this relationship?” then kicked back the remnants of her wine. “Besides a ton of Galleons and the Dark Mark, of course.”

Draco immediately went blank. He was nothing; there was only that familiar voice in the back of his mind that had somehow gotten even louder.

_You are forcing me into a relationship with half a boyfriend._

_Sex is the only time you aren’t hiding from me._

_No one will ever marry you like this._

_You’re a shell, a bloody corpse just walking about._

_Hoping for a future you knew could never happen._

“How dare you,” Hermione spat. “I knew this would happen and I brought Draco anyway because I thought you cared enough about me to understand I care for him. I promised him it would be alright because his friends accepted me without hesitation and I thought ... Well, whatever I thought was obviously wrong.”

“‘Mione,” Weasley said, “she didn’t mean it like that. She meant—”

“She meant it exactly like that! God, you could barely wait three months after the divorce before moving on with one of my best friends. Now you don’t think I can make this decision for myself? At least Harry can sit here and pretend to be okay with it.”

Potter added, “I’m not really all that upset about it.”

They kept yelling at each other for a full minute, but it was a din of conversation at the other end of a tunnel. Everything was foggy and distant except for that voice. 

_You’re not even a man anymore. What do you even bring to the relationship? Maybe the reason Hermione fell for you was because there isn’t enough of you left to hate._

Draco stood up from the table and everyone stopped speaking to look at him. He bent down to kiss Hermione as quickly as he could while still managing to say, _At least we tried._ Draco pulled away to see her friends and their shocked expressions, as if none of it had been real until he kissed her in front of them. They couldn’t hide from it any longer.

“Stay, and I will see you tomorrow with the twins.”

“No,” Hermione replied, “I’ll go with you.”

Draco gently pushed down on her shoulder to say, “Spend time with your friends. You do not need me around for that.”

“But this is _our_ time together. I don’t want to lose any of it.”

“I know.”

Hermione frowned. 

“Will you tell me if you need me?”

“Of course,” Draco lied. He would not pull her away from her friends. No matter how shitty they were to him, Hermione needed these people in her life. “Tomorrow.”

He held himself together just long enough to get outside. He wiped away tears as the voice in his head repeated Alicia’s words. _What, exactly, do you bring to the relationship?_

**.oOo.**

Draco sat on the end of his bed, hands folded in his lap. 

Hermione never answered the question. What could he bring to the relationship? His family tortured her in his house. The floorboards had been ripped up and portraits were gone, but he couldn’t remove the pain rooted inside the manor walls. All Draco had to offer was money, and Hermione was well enough off that she didn’t need it.

Hermione claimed to love him, but why should she? Even if it lasted a year or two, she would get bored of him. Hermione was too important, too brave, too interesting to damn herself to a future with a man like him. 

Draco turned to look at the bathroom door.

He knew he shouldn’t. Penelope called it a coping mechanism, said he had to learn to process emotions instead of chucking them back into the toilet. What was there to process? Hermione’s friends hated him. Eventually she would have to choose, right? How could he ask her to choose him over the people who had been with her for fifteen years? He had no right to be in her life and every second with her was a goddamn gift.

Draco stood up and shrugged off his robe. He tossed it in the laundry hamper and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He mumbled _Colloportus_ and curled his toes against the cold tile floor. Even the thought of purging his food was blissfully familiar. He would rid himself of all his problems, if only there was a way ...

No Puking Pastilles remained in the house. After a quick scan of the room, Draco grabbed his toothbrush from the vanity. The toilet seat flipped up with a lazy flick of his hand; a muscle memory that hadn’t faded. Draco fell to his knees in front of the toilet and, for a moment, it was Hermione’s voice in my head.

_Tell me if you need me?_

Draco would always need her. He was weak, nothing more than an inconvenience. The purging was proof of his weakness, because though he had gone several months without starving himself one way or another, the truth was that he would always end up on his knees at the toilet. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t—

Draco pressed the handle of the toothbrush against his tongue and pushed it back until it dipped down his throat. He gagged but nothing came up. He pushed it further back and gagged again, retching once then twice until dinner finally shot up from his stomach and the sludge passed through his lips. He sat up to avoid splashback, surprised that it worked. 

It felt _good_. The voices in his head were quiet as he used the toothbrush to gag again. He vomited until his stomach was empty. He kept going even then because the truth would come back as soon as he stopped. But Draco knew better and pulled himself back. Pushing too far meant blood and blood meant trouble. Blood was not control. 

He flushed the toilet’s contents and threw his toothbrush on the countertop. Draco couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror, just rinsed out his mouth and changed into his pyjamas. As his head settled on the pillow, Draco wondered whether he would ever be free of this hell.

_No one will ever love you like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate putting Draco through all this pain. This is a story about recovery, and there are more backslides than I think anyone wants to admit. 
> 
> I hope y'all are happy and healthy. ❤️


	32. Tell Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has to tell Hermione about his relapse, but how?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. 
> 
> TW: Coarse Language  
> TW: Physical Abuse  
> TW: Emotional Abuse

“You have to tell her.”

Draco took Bastien to Paris for the day so they could shop for presents with fewer prying eyes. Bastien was the least judgmental of his friends so Draco told him about the relapse first. Bastien seemed to handle it well but didn’t say much. It was rare he kept quiet; he was hiding something but Draco didn’t truly want to know. 

Bastien was funny, fit, and a great shag by all accounts. (There were many, many accounts.) He was also a good person who made friends with just about everyone, leading Slytherin House to refer to him as the “happy mistake.” In fact, he was as close to Ginny Potter as he was to Pansy. Bastien was exceptionally handsome, with a genuine smile and striking blue eyes. He was the perfect friend who knew when to intervene and when to step away. 

He was the friend Draco needed most. They walked mostly in silence as they passed a couple bookstores, but Hermione had no need for more books. It was their first Christmas together and Draco wanted to get her something special. Something that _meant_ something, that showed _commitment._ Draco stopped outside a jewelry shop with an elaborate window display. There was a small necklace, a large pair of earrings, and a few rings front and centre. It all looked nice but none of it felt right for Hermione. He frowned and wondered why this process was so difficult.

“Hermione does not wear much that sparkles.”

Bastien laughed.

“You shine enough for both of you, mate.”

Draco shot him a wan smile as they kept walking. Bastien stuffed his hands in his pockets and nudged Draco with his shoulder.

“You have to tell her soon. The longer you wait, the angrier she will be when she finds out.”

“Probably. I feel like I failed her.”

Draco turned into a small art gallery and held the door open for Bastien. They didn’t speak for awhile, just wandered around the cluttered space. It was refreshing to see art presented as part of the greater chaos instead of the usual gallery setup. This was how Draco imagined Luna Lovegood’s studio must look, on a larger scale. This was a place he could get lost in.

Bastien finally asked, “How long had you gone without doing it?”

“Nearly nine months. I was still skipping meals and trying to starve myself sometimes, but never the vomiting. That feels ...” Draco sighed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “It’s the worst thing I can do to myself. I starved for a decade and nothing happened, but six months of vomiting food and my hair started falling out.”

“We all know how attached you are to your hair.”

“Exactly!” Draco continued to browse as he made his way toward the back of the shop. “I wasn’t going to take that chance again, told myself nothing would ever be worth it. All it took was one hour with Potter and Weasley before I was right back there. Hated myself all over again, knowing I am not worth Hermione’s time.”

Bastien insisted, “You have to stop doing that. You made mistakes but you are not that person anymore. You’ve grown in more ways than one—”

Draco glared at him and snapped, “Thanks.”

“You can’t take that as an insult because you look so much better than you used to. When you came back, mate, you looked days away from death. I remember what you were like during the trial and how ragged you got, but it was nothing compared to seeing you like that. Sure, you’re a stone heavier than you were then, who cares? Hermione Granger is fucking you! This is _the best_ your life has ever been. You’re in love with someone who loves you more than I bet she’s even told you. When you left, Hermione got closer to us because it was the only way she knew to be closer to _you_. You two love each other and that means you’ve grown.”

“I dunno about that. I shame myself even more now, trying to be better.”

“Because you deserve to be better. _Let_ yourself be better!” Bastien frowned at a painting of a Centaur that focused an inordinate amount on the horse-sized vital bits. “You’ve got to own up to your mistake. If she loves you, she’ll understand. If she doesn’t understand then she’s not the woman we believe she is and you need to leave.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Draco replied. He caught sight of a small painting leaning against the side of another like someone had picked it up only to haphazardly toss it back onto the display. “We both know I could never pull away from her. Shem will leave me eventually; I won’t have to do it on my own.”

Bastien rolled his eyes.

“You missed the point. I said all that and you managed to completely miss the point.”

Draco picked the painting up by the frame and examined it. Hardly bigger than his hand, it featured a cat that looked exactly like Hermione’s long-dead familiar.

“I would rather feel shitty about myself _with_ her than feel even worse about myself without her.”

“That’s where this goes tits-up! You are ill and Hermione is _not_ the cure; you cannot tie your entire recovery to her. This is why the two of you scare me.”

Draco frowned and asked, “How do you mean?”

“Your goal from the moment you started seeing Penelope was to get better. That is the fucking goal, the endgame, the ability for you to eat food without being terrified of what happens afterward. Then you ended up with these ideas in your head about what life could look like when you’re well. Life can mean Hermione. Life could mean Hermione with a bloody ring on her finger and when you saw that you forgot about the goal. Plus you met Granger at therapy, so you know there is something a bit fucked-up with her, too.”

“Careful how you speak of her,” Draco warned. “She was there less than three months.”

“Why was she there?”

Traumatic Stress Disorder, or some rubbish like that. With a name that foreign, that _clinical_ it hardly seemed real. Then again, it took months for Draco to wrap his head around the term ‘anorexia’ so perhaps he shouldn’t write it off so quickly. 

“She threw a book at a foreign minister, I think.”

“She’s violent.”

“No!” Draco paused. It hadn’t been a question. “Right, well, Bill Weasley said something to that effect.”

Bastien grimaced.

“Yeah, we all know.”

Draco stopped in the middle of the aisle and grabbed Bastien by the arm. He narrowed his eyes and asked,

“What the hell do you know?”

Bastien laughed.

“More about her life with Ron Weasley than I bet you’ve cared to ask.”

“We don’t talk about our exes much, not a great topic for either of us.”

“You never hurt Astoria, did you? Never got angry enough at Blaise to punch him. Never thought about throwing something at Gabrielle because she looked at another man’s arse.” He paused to consider those words. “Don’t get me wrong, Ron gave as good as he got, but his retaliation was emotional and Hermione goes fucking feral if you press the right buttons. About six months after the war ended, they realized it never left. It lingers for all of us, you more than almost anyone.”

If that wasn’t the fucking truth.

“Hermione’s scars are on the inside. Potter and Weasley, everybody knows their part in the war, you can see it all over their bodies. Hell, Ron still can’t hold a fork properly with his one hand. But Hermione’s been trying to survive since she was twelve years old. Our world never wanted her, the Dark Lord wanted to murder her not because he was hunting her, but because she _existed_. She lived on the edge her entire adolescence so I’m not surprised when she can’t control her emotions like the rest of us.”

Draco took a deep breath, and asked, “What did she do?” Knowing damn well he did not want to hear the answer.

“Don’t think it’d be right for me to tell you exactly what went on.”

“Big picture, then.”

Bastien grimaced.

“There are only so many times a man can ‘run into a door’ or ‘fall down stairs.’ Basic sequence of events: Ron got a little too touchy with Alicia. No married man’s face should be that close to another woman’s, especially your wife’s friend. Hermione confronted him about it, he did it again and lingered a bit longer. She confronted him again, he said she was overreacting, and then she overreacted. Imagine that happening every other month for three years and you have their divorce papers.”

Draco tightened his fingers around Bastien’s arm.

“I am not Ron Weasley. She would never do that to me.”

Bastien closed his eyes and shook his head, almost as if he’d heard those words before.

“I hope you’re right.”

Draco reasoned, “She would have done it already.”

“She punched you in the face.”

“That was fourteen years ago and I was being a twit.”

Bastien wrenched his arm free of Draco’s grip.

“You’ve lied to Hermione, relapsed, and now you’re hiding it from her. How do you think that compares to ‘being a twit?’”

“If she leaves me, that’s fine, I deserve it. But our relationship isn’t like that anymore.”

“Alright,” Bastien huffed, “Both Ron and Hermione were wrong, so fucking wrong in what they did to each other, but Ron is the tosser. He instigated it. He _knew_ Hermione couldn’t control her emotions enough to respond in a proper manner. Her pain is internal, just like yours; instead of torturing herself inside like you do, Hermione retaliates. And someone with that much power can do a lot of damage without thinking. Ron treated it like a game, how close could he get to Alicia without making Hermione explode? He crossed the line too many times for his own amusement. But Hermione’s never tried to control it, has she?”

“She was seeing Padma.”

“And then she stopped.”

Draco agreed, “And then she stopped because she got better.”

“Like I said,” Bastien warned, “I hope to God that you’re right.”

**.oOo.**

“I have to tell her.”

Penelope’s face remained frustratingly neutral as Draco recounted his dinner with Hermione’s friends. The tension, the prodding, leaving early yet again. He could hardly meet her eyes. The office seemed smaller, like the walls were closing in a bit. Draco recounted his relapse and still yet nothing from Penelope.

“I know I have to tell her, but I failed and admitting that to her face is a challenge I’m not ready for.”

“I don’t think you failed Hermione,” Penelope replied, “I think you failed yourself.”

“I can live with that. I chose to do this on my own. When I left I knew I would relapse and did not want her to see me do it, which is where I fucked up.”

Penelope scribbled notes on her parchment as she asked, “What part of the dinner made you feel like you needed to purge it out?”

Draco shrugged.

“There wasn’t really one part of it. The whole of it was awful.”

“Why?”

“Because it is! Because Potter and Weasley are Hermione’s friends and they will never accept me the way that Blaise and Theo have already accepted Hermione. I never wanted Hermione to have to choose between us, but she will. And even if by some bloody aneurysm she chose me, I would never be able to live knowing I pulled her away from her friends.”

“You felt you were pulling Hermione away from her friends and that caused your relapse.”

“Well, I think—”

“That one wasn’t a question.” Penelope stopped writing and looked up at Draco to say, “You hate yourself for so many reasons. The moment you find happiness you also find a reason to pull yourself away from it. You guilt yourself over every little thing, knowing that even if Hermione chose to spend her life with you alienated from her friends, Hermione Granger is a grown woman more than capable of making her own choices.”

“Alicia asked what I bring to the relationship and Hermione never answered the question.” Draco sighed heavily and slumped backward into the chair. “ _I_ couldn’t even answer the question. I don’t really know what I bring or what she sees in me to make her think I am at all worthwhile.”

Penelope sighed heavily and grimaced.

“There is only so much I can tell you about what I know because our confidentiality policy is purposefully rigid. But we share patient information with each other, especially when two of our patients are involved in a very high-profile relationship. I suppose I can say that Ron Weasley was the heart of the Golden Trio, Harry Potter was the conscience, and Hermione was the mind. A mind that is scarred by years of war and never had time to heal. Hermione never found anyone who considered her to be their heart or their conscience until she found both in you. You speak very highly of her kindness and forgiveness, and she has acted as a barometer in your recovery. Keeping this from her is locking your heart and your mind away, exactly what everyone else has always done.”

“It is not my heart,” Draco insisted. “She has a firm grip on that. I dunno when it happened, really, but Hermione is the first person to make me feel like I don’t have to earn something from her. I plan to tell her what I did, but I do not know how to do it without hurting both of us.”

Penelope’s expression softened and her shoulders fell.

“You can’t.”

Draco nodded. He knew as much, but he hoped Penelope could show him a way out. She always promised there was a light at the end of the tunnel, as long as he was willing to open his eyes to it. In this instance, however, there was nothing but darkness ahead.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is?”

Penelope shook her head.

“Even with a clear view of the consequences, I’d do it again. Astoria’s voice, Alicia Weasley’s voice, my own bloody father’s voice shouting how fucking worthless I am. It was a real shit decision but I shut them up for a minute and life was good again. I don’t have another way to make it stop.”

“The answer is not shutting them up.” Penelope placed her quill on the table. “The only way to stop those thoughts is for you not to believe them. You are not worthless. I can tell you that, Hermione Granger can tell you, and you could line up each of your friends to tell you as much but it will never mean anything unless _you_ believe it.”

“Why should I?”

“You can eat food, learn to eat like everyone else, but if you continue to believe you are worthless as a person it will manifest in other ways. You’re torturing yourself, Draco, that’s what this is. You are an intelligent man, you understand how to eat food. It’s just about how much you want to hurt yourself, and the only way to stop is for you not to want to do that anymore.”

Draco twined his fingers together and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He stared at the side of the table until the edges blurred.

“I can’t think of a single thing I like about myself.” He paused to reconsider. “There are small things, of course, but each of them leads to something I hate. Every time Hermione says I am handsome she means it as a compliment but all I hear is that I look like my father.”

“Then why don’t you live off Polyjuice?” Penelope asked in that tone implying she already had an answer in mind. “If your face and your body are the problem, shouldn’t that be a decent solution?”

Draco scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know that is not it.”

“Of course I know, but do you?”

“I hate what I’ve done in my life and most of the time I do not believe I deserve to be here.” Draco popped his knuckles and winced. “It is like I never learned to take care of myself emotionally. When the Dark Lord came to live with us I had just turned fifteen and had to hide everything from Him. Occlumency is not a gift, it’s a goddamn _symptom_ of this nonsense! I hid from the Dark Lord. I hid everything at the trial. Bloody hell, there was a time I had to hide my boyfriend from my _parents!_ ” 

Draco pulled his shirt up to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. 

“I couldn’t let Hermione see me like that. She said she loved me, but she wouldn’t anymore if she saw me like that. I want to be honest with her, but I don’t know how to stop hiding.”

Penelope, in her frustratingly earnest, optimistic tone, gently suggested, “Perhaps you should tell her that.”

**.oOo.**

December 21st.

Friday.

It should have been a good day. 

Draco didn’t even knock anymore, just walked into Hermione’s house at 6:30. The wards didn’t put up a fight. If anything, the house summoned him like it had been awaiting his arrival. It was Friday, after all.

It should have been a good day.

Draco placed Hermione’s present at the foot of the Christmas tree, tucked behind a few larger boxes. He wrapped the gift in bright red paper patterned with tiny Snidgets and stuck a bright gold bow in the centre of the square. The small painting was too perfect; there was a space just that size on her office wall.

Even before they slept together, Draco had made Hermione’s house a second home and developed a Friday routine. Draco arrived a half hour early to cook dinner so he would be less averse to eating it. Hermione came home at seven, laughed about her horrible day, and changed into her pyjamas. Draco liked that she was so comfortable around him, that he had become part of her home. 

This weekend should be a momentous one, their first stretch of five days together; Friday evening through Christmas Day. When Hermione came home and Draco wasn’t cooking, she immediately knew something was wrong. She anxiously pulled her hair up and shrugged off her robe to reveal the camisole underneath, her shoulders slumped under the weight of a long week. Hermione tossed the robe onto a chair and wrapped her arms around Draco’s waist.

“Hi.”

Hermione kissed him quickly and smiled. Draco tried to smile back.

“Hi.”

What Draco wouldn’t give to stay like that forever. No need for Hermione to ever leave his arms and no need to reveal his weakness. But, as always, Hermione saw more than Draco wanted her to see. She stepped away and frowned.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened.”

“Then why do you look like this is the last place you want to be?”

Draco swallowed thickly and said, “Perhaps you should sit.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I want you to tell me what’s wrong. Is it something I did or are you nervous about spending five days together?”

“Nothing like that.”

Hermione guessed, “You don’t want to visit Harry Christmas Eve.”

“No,” Draco admitted, not surprised she saw right through him, “I don’t.”

She frowned and asked, “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about me at all?” She paused. “Is this about dinner?”

“Of course this is about dinner! It was degrading!”

“They were out of line, and I made it clear if they spoke to you like that again I would choose you over them.”

“That is the problem!” Draco shouted back. “I do not want you to have to choose. I do not want to disrupt your life, I want to fit into it. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone, but your friends will never see that because all they want to see is the person I used to be.

“I told them how they treated you was unacceptable. Your sexuality is not something they are allowed to speak about.”

“I don’t want it to be off-limits! I only want them to ask in a way that isn’t meant to hurt me. You can talk about sex around my friends, but I can barely kiss you without Weasley threatening to retch up his entire meal!”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?!”

Hermione pressed a hand over her mouth the very moment the words passed through her lips, regret written across her face. Draco couldn’t tell which of them was more horrified.

“I didn’t mean—”

Draco held up a hand to stop her. How the hell could she say something like that? Potter and Weasley, sure, but not Hermione. Never her.

“I would never use that against you.” Hermione insisted, “You know I will never judge you for it.”

“Won’t you?” he challenged. “I wanted to change our plans because I cannot handle another meal with Potter or Weasley. I discussed it with Penelope and we agree I am not ready for it. I wish I could move forward faster for you, but I can’t.”

“I never asked you to move faster! Why are you more concerned about what Harry and Ron say than how I feel about you?”

“They never had to earn your affection!” Draco shouted. “Can’t you understand?! The entire world looks at them as heroes. They have been part of your life for sixteen bloody years and I get to spend my time praying that you don’t see how fucking worthless I am by comparison. When we spend time with them, they ask the most humiliating questions. I do not mind people speaking poorly about me, Hermione, but I do not want them to do it in front of you.”

She insisted, “Nothing they can say will change how I feel about you!”

“Then why didn’t you answer Alicia’s question?”

“What question?”

“She asked what I bring to our relationship and you never answered. Tell me, Hermione, what value do I bring?”

“I gave Alicia an answer, but you weren’t there to hear it!”

“Then tell me!”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Red sparks flew from Hermione’s fingertips. “Because if I did you would find a reason to discredit whatever I say.”

“That is not true. I believe everything you tell me.”

“Except when I say that I love you!” Hermione countered. “Because to me, you are worth more than you know, yet you treat yourself with such _disdain!_ Do you understand how difficult it is to love someone who doesn’t love themself? I have to love you enough for both of us, and it’s exhausting!”

Draco asked, “Am I a burden to you, now?”

“No!” Angry red flashes of magic wound down through Hermione’s curls. “But sometimes it’s difficult figuring what to say and what not to say. What hurts you and what doesn’t. Wondering whether I will accidentally say something that pushes you over the edge.”

“Which is the reason I hid this from you! You told me you never wanted to be with a man who places his emotional weight on your shoulders! Just now when I mentioned it is not a good idea for us to go to dinner with the only people who have ever pushed me back into old habits, you are making it feel like a selfish desire. All I am asking is that I do not have to put either of us in that position again!”

“I understood that being with you would take effort. I am willing to work through this with you because I want to be the person at your side when you recover! I want to be in your life!” 

“Why? You know the sort of person I was.”

“I don’t care the sort of person you were; I’m not in love with him. I am in love with the person you are now and the person you will be when this is over!”

“At least you can tell the difference! The only way I know to prove I am not that person anymore is to purge that feeling. Potter and Weasley bring that out better than anyone, so I don’t want to spend Christmas Eve with either of them!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and balled her hands into fists.

“You relapsed _again_?!”

Oh, shit.

Shit.

_Shit._

Draco nodded.

“YOU LIED TO ME!” Hermione’s entire body trembled with rage. “I asked if you needed me and you said no. You _lied!_ ”

There was a brief second when Draco considered saying no. He could pretend it never happened, but every previous relationship he had was built on the same secrecy. Hermione deserved more than that so he took a deep breath and admitted,

“Yes.”

Before Draco knew what was happening, a large book flew off the bookshelf and the spine slammed into the right side of his face. He flinched away as it fell to the ground with a loud thud in a house that had gone crushingly silent. Draco pressed his fingertips against his eye and winced. He looked at Hermione and asked,

“Did you just hit me?”

Hermione had both hands across her mouth to quiet the sobs wracking her entire body. She shook her head and turned her back to Draco, who couldn’t move. He couldn’t wrap his head around what happened. He finally glanced down to see the book was a magical law compendium, one of the thickest books on the shelf. Hermione eventually turned around, her face red and splotchy.

“I’m s-so sorry. I didn’t mean ... I thought ... I c-can’t believe this has happened again. I’m ...”

She reached for Draco and took a step toward him. He took a corresponding step back and shook his head.

“No.”

“I’ll get some ice—”

Draco shook his head and repeated, “No.”

Hermione’s face fell into a passive, resigned mask. She nodded. Draco closed his eyes and wondered how he let this happen. What exactly he said, which words to take back, where he could find a Time-Turner strong enough to do this moment over again. He said,

“I have to leave, now.”

Hermione collapsed onto a chair and curled into herself.

“Will you come back?”

“How can I?” Draco shook his head. “I work every day to learn how to treat my body with respect. How the hell can I do that if you don’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one was difficult. Draco's going to be better eventually, I promise. The happy ending will come.


	33. You Did The Right Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has to deal with the fallout of Hermione's actions and his decision to leave. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place on the evening of December 21st and morning of December 22nd, 2007. PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. If there is one chapter for which you read the TWs, make it this one.
> 
> TW: Consequences of Physical Abuse  
> TW: Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: Coarse Language  
> TW: Self-Blame

Draco couldn’t make it any further than the porch.

Hermione’s front door slammed shut behind him and he glanced toward the street. Everything out there seemed so normal. Draco watched as a few passersby turned a corner further down, unaware his entire world had been upended.

_What happened? How could this happen? Why did this happen?_

Draco sat on the first step, gripped his shins and rested his head between his knees. Every part of his body felt twice as heavy; he could hardly move. The right side of his face throbbed and Draco flexed his fingers to excise some of the tension in his body. A body that, at the moment, hardly felt as if it belonged to him.

Hermione hadn’t meant to do it, but did not make a difference. Her rage was more important than Draco’s safety, and he had been through this with Astoria. Been made to feel disposable, moldeable, and completely worthless once all the layers were peeled back to reveal the man he was underneath. Astoria berated him with her words until she felt justified in leaving him. Draco would argue Hermione’s anger was justified the same.

He lied to her and admitted it. He relapsed. He was not well and Hermione couldn’t handle it. Draco supposed the only fault was his; both that he thought he could be worthy of her, and for trusting she could understand him well enough to forgive this deception. Hermione lashing out was the same as Astoria; they realized he wasn’t the man they wanted him to be.

That was the whole point, wasn’t it? He was finding out who Draco Malfoy was meant to be. He tried to stop hiding but everyone kept pushing him back into the same goddamn box, the same fear and shame that forced him into anorexia all those years earlier. Didn’t he deserve better?

Hermione was supposed to be better.

Draco always brought out the worst parts of the people he loved. His parents, Astoria, and now Hermione. He slowly stood up from the step and wondered if Hermione felt as awful as he did. Wondered if she had ripped her own heart out and stomped on it. None of this made any sense, except to say that Draco had lost the only woman he loved because, once again, he wasn’t good enough.

Strong enough.

_Man enough._

He Apparated to Bastien’s flat, the only person who knew about the relapse and Hermione’s predilection for this sort of thing. Draco stared at the door for a full minute, too numb to so much as lift his hand to knock. Everything was still so heavy, like Draco couldn’t feel anything except a heavy weight on his shoulders. He shivered in the cold and eventually forced himself to knock.

Bastien pulled the door open moments later and smiled.

“Draco! Good to see you, mate. Is Hermione with you?” He squinted at Draco and frowned. “Bloody hell, what happened to your face?! Looks like you met the wrong end of a Bludger or something.”

Holy shit, Draco had to tell him. How could he say, “Another amazing woman realized I am completely worthless.” Bastien was beaming, so that meant Padma must be inside. Draco was about to ruin their evening. He considered turning around, but where else could he go?

Draco shook his head and admitted, “You were right.”

“Right about wh—” Bastien stopped mid-sentence as he realized the meaning behind Draco’s words. A dozen emotions flashed across his face; anger, disappointment, fear ... Bastien placed one hand on Draco’s shoulder and asked, “What do you need?”

“We broke up.” Draco’s entire chest ached as he said those words. Saying it out loud made it real. “And I can’t go home.”

Bastien grabbed the middle of Draco’s shirt and pulled him inside. The door swung shut behind them and Bastien slowly walked Draco over to the sofa. He glanced around to see Bastien had at least made an effort to clean the place a bit. Normally there were clothes strewn about, half-brewed potions sitting in cauldrons, etc. Everything was so unfamiliar Draco didn’t know what to do, just let himself be led. Bastien sat Draco down and knelt in front of him.

“Padma’s here, alright? She can talk to you while I—”

“You can’t tell them.” Draco woke up enough to grab Bastien’s arm in a firm hold and beg, “Don’t tell them what she did.”

“Okay.” Bastien nodded. “If that’s what you need right now then I won’t tell them. But one look at your face and they’ll figure it out on their own.”

“She didn’t mean to.” Draco didn’t know why he felt the need to defend Hermione at that moment, but repeated, “I swear she didn’t mean to do it.”

“Distinction without a difference, mate.” Bastien grimaced. “But I know who you need. Give me ten minutes.”

He departed to the next room where Padma had probably been ordering takeaway. Merlin, if he wasn't ruining his own evening he was ruining someone else’s. They didn’t bother to quiet their conversation and Draco couldn’t do much but listen. He heard Padma’s voice first.

> “What happened?”
> 
> “Draco told Hermione that he relapsed and she hit him.” There was a dull thunk like Bastien had kicked the wall. “I knew I should have been there when he told her!”
> 
> “You couldn’t possibly mediate the two of them forever. I begged Hermione to keep coming to sessions, but she thought she could control herself. She sat in a chair for ten weeks and made as little progress as possible. _This_ is the result.” Padma sighed. “Is he okay?”
> 
> “No, he isn’t. _Fucking hell!_ I _told_ him about this. I warned him, I should have tried harder to stop it, made sure to have been there when he told her. Dammit!”
> 
> “This is not your fault. We should take him home.”
> 
> “No, we’ll find another place for him to stay.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “Because I’ve known him for years and people can say whatever they want about him, but Draco Malfoy knows his limits. There’s a reason he’s here. This isn’t, ‘I don’t want to go home.’ He said, ‘I _can’t_ go home.’ He is in a bad way right now and I can’t leave him alone. I have to make sure he is safe.”
> 
> There was a long silence before Padma answered.
> 
> “I’ll stay here with him.”
> 
> “Thank you!”

Draco heard the crack of Disapparition just before Padma walked into the room. She looked gorgeous, as usual, in a white sweater dress and black heels. God, they must have been planning a nice evening together and he had to drop in to muck it up. Draco moved to stand up and said,

“I’ll just go—”

Padma sat next to him on the sofa and gently pressed him back.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t say anything, but it was nice to have her there. A silent, comforting presence in a world that no longer wanted him. Draco sank back into the cushions and closed his eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Repeat. He felt the slight tug of exhaustion begin behind his eyes.

He dozed off and was woken sometime later by a loud _Crack! Crack!_

Draco opened his eyes and time seemed to slow down, but he couldn’t get his bearings. Then everything happened very, very fast. Padma was still on the sofa at his right, while Theo was in front of his face.

“Hey, brother.”

Draco mumbled, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“In this shithole Bastien calls a flat?” Theo teased halfheartedly. He nodded to Draco’s right eye. “What happened to you?”

_Lie._

_Lie._

_Lie._

Draco croaked out, “I fucked up.”

“Did you punch a wall with your face?”

His mouth was dry as he said, “Last week after I left Hermione at dinner, I relapsed.”

“Okay.” Theo nodded and repeated, “It’s okay, we all make mistakes. You’re going to fuck up in this, and we’re okay helping you through. That’s what we’re here for, and what Hermione is here for.”

“That’s just it. I told her and she ... she ...”

Draco couldn’t finish, but judging by the look on Theo’s face he didn’t need to. Theo opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but had no words. He shook his head in disbelief and whispered,

“What the hell happened?”

Draco shrugged halfheartedly and said, “I left. I broke up with her.”

“Okay, you did the right thing. How are you feeling?”

“I dunno, Theo.” He sighed heavily as the cushions began to pull him back in. “Tired. I’m really tired, I don’t want to think about anything.”

“I want you to come home with me so you can sleep as long as you like.”

“The twins will ask questions. I don’t want questions.”

“Do you want to stay here, then?”

“I dunno, Theo.” Draco sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to feel anything right now, because I know I was right to leave but it _feels_ wrong. Just ... let me sleep.”

“Okay. You sleep and we’ll be here when you wake up, alright?”

Draco nodded and began to drift off. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly. His eyelids were heavy and his mind was suspended in a state of half-consciousness. He heard the conversation in the adjoining room like it was a dream, coming from the other end of a long tunnel.

> “We can’t leave him here on the sofa,” Theo insisted. “I need to take him home.”
> 
> “You heard him,” replied Bastien, “he doesn’t want the twins asking questions. And, honestly, I don’t think they should see him like this. Dunno what she hit him with, but it was more than her fist this time.”
> 
> “I agree, they cannot see him like this. I meant I should take him to the manor.”
> 
> “NO!” shouted Bastien. “No, he can’t go home.”
> 
> “Why not? He needs familiarity, a place where he can feel safe.”
> 
> “And you think he feels safe in the manor? The only place he really felt at home was Hermione’s house and now she’s gone and fucked that up. The manor has Moonseed, whisky, and fifteen other things he can swallow to kill himself while his parents are looking the other way.”
> 
> “He wouldn’t do that.”
> 
> “He absolutely would.”
> 
> “He is an adult! We can’t coddle him and pass him around like a twenty-four hour watch.”
> 
> “Are you fucking mad?!” Bastien shouted. “That is exactly what we are going to do! He just walked away from the love of his life because she _hit him._ If we take our eyes off him for a minute I swear to you, Theo, he will kill himself. He told me last week that he would never leave Hermione because he would rather feel like shit with her than live without her. Leaving her must have taken every bit of self-respect he had, which means he’s got none left. In his mind he’s not worthy of Hermione, of your kids, or of being alive at all.”
> 
> Padma interjected, “I will leave, now.”
> 
> Bastien replied, “You don’t need to do that.”
> 
> There was a brief pause before Padma said, “I know it may not seem important right now, but someone needs to check on Hermione.”
> 
> Bastien grumbled something unintelligible.
> 
> “You may think so, but she was my client and she is in pain.”
> 
> “Fine.” Bastien must’ve paused to kiss Padma before saying, “One day we’ll get to have a normal dinner.”
> 
> “One day.”
> 
> _Crack!_
> 
> Theo sighed and wondered, “Who’s going to tell Blaise?”

Draco drifted off to sleep with that question on his mind. Who the hell was going to tell Blaise there would be no more Saturdays with Hermione. No more Tuesdays listening to Draco complain about not being able to see her. No more promising that one day Draco could have what he and Dean had found in each other.

_Who the hell is going to tell Blaise?_

**.oOo.**

Draco was slow to regain consciousness. There was a blanket underneath him and he gripped it between his fingers. It was soft and someone had placed a fluffy pillow beneath his head. He rolled his head to one side, cracked his neck, and winced. He had been asleep awhile, then.

Draco opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of Blaise’s guest room. Morning light filtered in through the window above the bed as Draco groaned and sat up on his elbows. He looked down to see he was dressed in his jeans and jumper from the night before. He ended up there when he needed to get away from his parents, so the room was de facto his. Draco glanced around the room, exactly the same as it had always been; closet on the right, bathroom and bedside table on the left. Bastien was draped horizontally over the foot of the bed while Dean was reading a book in the chair by the door.

“Nice to see you’re awake.” Bastien didn’t move. “You’ve been out over twelve hours and Blaise is stress cooking. Figured you’d be better off here in a bed than on my sofa. Would’ve offered you my bed but it was still a bit messed from when Padma and I—”

“You don’t need to finish that sentence,” Draco cut him off. “Why am I here?”

Bastien sat up and raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember wh—” Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and jumped backward as pain flooded the right side of his face. “SHIT!”

_Hermione._

_Hermione hit me._

_I broke up with Hermione because she hit me._

“Padma put some arnica on it,” Bastien said, “but it will be a few days before the swelling goes down.”

Everything from the previous night hit Draco at once. He would never hold Hermione again. He’d never kiss her again. There would be no more afternoons with the twins, Saturdays with Blaise, and no holidays or early morning sex. It was as if someone had ripped Draco’s still-beating heart right out of his chest as he ached with a pain he’d never felt before.

“I ruined her Christmas.”

Bastien frowned and asked, “Are you serious?”

“I left her.” Draco twisted the blanket between his fingers and insisted, “Oh my God, I’m the Astoria; I ruined her Christmas.”

Bastien sat there, open-mouthed while Dean stood up and placed his book on the chair. He left and Bastien swallowed whatever dumb-arse statement he was about to make. Draco grabbed his robe from the side of the bed and clutched it to his chest.

“I ruined your evening. I ruined Hermione’s Christmas. I fuck up everything I touch and I dunno why I thought Hermione would be different.”

“Do you really believe this is your fault?” Bastien asked, incredulous.

“Of course it’s my fault! I relapsed and I lied! You said Weasley played with her, well how the hell am I any different? I pushed Hermione into this and then I left her.”

“That is skrewtshit. _She_ pushed _you_ away. She hit you—”

“It was just a book.”

“It looks like she slammed you into a wall.”

“No,” he shook his head, “no, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!”

“Then what is it?! What the hell is this? I just ruined the best thing in my life!”

Bastien placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder and said, “Your life is more than Hermione Granger!”

“No it’s not!” Draco choked on a sob. God, he hated the crying but he couldn’t hold it back. He took a deep breath and bit down on his fist. “She was my future. She wanted to be with me through this so we would be together on the other side of it. No one else will ever do that for me.”

“What are we?” asked Bastien. “Are your friends not important enough to you?”

“You’re not going to make a family with me. Everything Hermione promised to be for me, I walked away from it just because she got angry.”

“She did so much more than get angry.”

“I fucked up.” He choked on his words as he said, “I fucked up so badly.”

Draco doubled-over, collapsing in on himself. His ribcage stuttered as he struggled to keep air down long enough to breathe. Bastien awkwardly patted him on the back, unsure how to help. Draco twined his fingers into the blanket and curled his toes, trying to stabilize _something._

“God, I can’t ... I c-can’t do this anymore.”

He closed his eyes, trying to keep it away, shut it all out. Footsteps sounded as someone came up the stairs and ran into the room. There was an awkward shuffling as the bed rose on one end and tilted back on the other. The bed dipped behind Draco as a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist. Whomever it was smelled like blueberry muffins, so there was really only one person it could be.

Blaise pulled Draco’s back flush against his chest and situated himself so there was no space between them from shoulder to toe. Draco gripped Blaise’s hands with his own and bent forward again, sputtering,

“I can’t. I can’t, Blaise, I can’t do it anymore.”

“I know, I know.” Blaise tightened his grip. “Let it out.”

Draco opened his eyes to see Bastien had left and Dean hadn’t returned. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, a wasted effort as he cried even harder.

“It is just you and me.” Blaise pressed his forehead into the back of Draco’s neck. “What are you thinking?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do. It is alright to hurt this much, but you cannot keep it in. Tell me what you want to do.”

“I want to go to Hermione’s house and beg her to take me back. But I can't do that,” Draco sniffled, “so I want to go home and swallow a vial of Moonseed.”

“Okay.”

“Or I want to toss myself in front of the Knight Bus.” He paused before saying, “Pretty sure Weasley would beat me to death if I let him.”

Draco went quiet for several seconds, so Blaise prodded him to, “Keep going.”

“Could reopen the Sectumsempra scars, but that would hurt.” Draco swallowed thickly and added, “I don’t want it to hurt. On our route, Bastien and I run by the Sapworthy Pond. It’s beautiful, you know, peaceful. I think I’d really like to walk into it and just ... not come back out.”

“That is how you would do it, then?”

“Yeah,” Draco’s voice cracked, “that is how I would do it. Or try, at least. I am such a bloody failure I couldn’t even starve myself properly.” Draco sniffled and his entire body began to shake. “My body hasn’t felt like it belonged to me for ten years, and I finally gave it over to Hermione. I trusted her with it and she did _this_.” He waved the fingers of one hand in the direction of his right eye. “I love her, and yet _I_ _walked away._ ”

“You did the right thing.”

Draco wiped some of the tears from his face.

“For so long, I convinced myself just to keep going. I thought it has to get better than this. Life _has_ to be better than this, so I pushed myself along every goddamn day until I found Hermione. Then I wasn’t pushing myself, I was s-so happy.” He wiped the snot from beneath his nose. “ _That_ is how life is supposed to feel, I had it for the first time in my life and now I’ve fucking lost it.” Draco leaned his head back onto Blaise’s shoulder.

“What would Penelope say to that?”

“Oh, Merlin fucking knows,” he huffed. “Probably some skrewtshit about how I should focus on taking ownership of my body. Respecting it more, you know. But I want a Dean.” Draco admitted, “I want what you have.” He sniffled. “You and Theo and even Bastien’s fallen in love with somebody. Fucking _Bastien!_ Even with all of you I am so alone because you have the one thing I want.” His voice trembled. “The truth is that I don’t deserve it. Nobody wants me because I’m not worth it.”

“That is not true.” Blaise rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “But you have to love yourself before anyone else can love you the way you want them to.”

“Then I am destined to be alone.” Draco pushed some hair out of his face then wiped snot from his nose with the side of his hand. “At your wedding, you told Dean the humility ritual was not difficult because it was for him. I want that, and I had it with Hermione. I would do anything for her and it feels like I lost my only chance to have the sort of love I always wanted.”

Blaise sighed and nudged Draco’s knee with his own.

“On our third date I told Dean I knew I did not deserve him. He looked at me and said, ‘Even if no one has properly loved you before, that does not mean you don’t deserve it now.’ And I knew from that moment on I wanted to marry him. Hermione probably felt the same way for you, but she hid from her own problems and yesterday you paid the price for choices she made. You walked away and that proves you are closer to loving yourself than you believe.”

“No,” Draco shook his head and continued to cry. The tears should have stopped, but they kept coming. His chest ached like he was lying beneath something heavy. “I walked away because I couldn’t see how she loved me anymore. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I loved her with every part of me and now it’s _gone_ and I really want to be gone with it.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a long time. The gentle rise and fall of Blaise’s chest against Draco’s back pulled him out of those thoughts for a brief moment. It was as if someone had been holding his head underwater and he managed to breathe for a single second.

“My face hurts.”

“I know.”

“Even my heart hurts.”

“I know, but you are alive.” Blaise squeezed Draco as tightly as he could and said, “Right now, that is enough for me.”

Draco folded in on himself, leaning to the left, pulling his knees into his chest.

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I am tired of pushing myself forward. I didn’t have to feel anything like this when I wasn’t eating food. This life is not what I wanted. I don’t think this pain is worth suffering.”

“I know,” Blaise replied, “but I am here with you until you believe it is.”


	34. The Most Wonderful Time of Year?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco copes much better this time. It's not perfect, but it's better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anger-related Violence  
> TW: Blood (minor)  
> CW: Coarse Language

Blaise didn’t let go for hours.

When the silence was too heavy, he talked about nothing. The virtue of smoked paprika over sweet. He tried to understand football for Dean, but gave up. Dean’s stepfather would never consider him part of the family. Always blueberries for muffins and raspberries for scones. Anything to keep Draco’s mind occupied.

He never felt so broken before. There had always been a faint part of him that knew he could pull himself back together, but that part was gone. If Blaise let him go during those first few hours, Draco would have floated off, never to be seen again. No more problems, no more struggling to convince himself he was worthy of every fucking breath. Those thoughts disappeared somewhere between paprika and peppercorn. 

Dean knocked on the door sometime later. He peeked inside and held up a large thermos of bright blue liquid.

“Bastien dropped this by after work.”

Bastien left? He’d gone to work? He’d been _off_ work for enough time to drop off a hefty dose of Calming Draught? 

“One cup, eight hours.”

Blaise nodded toward the bedside table so Dean came in and placed it as instructed. He put one hand on Blaise’s shoulder and said,

“You need to make dinner.”

“But—”

“I’ll stay here with him. You are just downstairs, it will be fine.”

“Will it?”

It took Draco a few moments to realize the question was addressed to him. He nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring, confident manner.

“Yes, I am fine, I’ll be fine. You go.”

Blaise didn’t push for reassurance and took Draco at his word. He leapt off the bed and rolled his head from side to side; Draco winced at the loud pops. Blaise rolled his shoulders and cracked his toes against the hardwood. He asked Dean,

“Do you want something particular?”

“Whatever you feel like cooking tonight.”

Blaise teased, “I was thinking paella.”

“Oh, don’t even start with that shrimp rubbish,” Dean quipped with a smile. “You’ll think of something good, I know you will.”

“I always do.”

“Always.”

Then Blaise walked out the door and Dean fell, once again, into the chair by the door. Their relationship was so effortless. Draco thought he and Hermione would have that one day, but ...

“Do you want dinner?”

Draco shook his head.

“Thought not, but wanted to make sure.” He opened the book he’d left in the chair earlier that day. There were several minutes of silence, save for the turning of a page now and again. 

Draco grabbed the thermos and stared down at the blue potion sloshing against the sides. The promise of comfort. The promise of _sleep_. But he needed to know.

“Have you seen her?”

Dean grumbled, “Mhmm,” without looking up.

“How is she?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No.”

“I won’t tell you then.”

“If she was so badly off,” Draco reasoned, “you would be with her, now.”

“No.” Dean closed the book and leaned forward. “Hermione is a close friend, but the truth is that she needs Ron and Harry. If anyone understands what she’s done to you, it’s Ron, but she needs them both to get her through this. I hope that they take care of her, but they never understood the depth of her commitment to you.”

“Potter knows about my illness.”

“That doesn’t matter. Hermione loved you even before you ditched us for France.”

“I did not—”

“Will you stop with that?” Dean rolled his eyes. “You refuse to see how your actions affect other people. We got back from our honeymoon only for Blaise to find everyone begging your parents for information about where you’d run off to. Blaise came back only to find out you were at Death’s door and our wedding had pushed you there. He will never get that back. We have photos from that day and I can see the sadness in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he should have done something? Then you show up out of bloody nowhere, halfway through foreplay one of his staff knocked on the front door to tell us you were at the restaurant. Couldn’t even do it yourself; Blaise had to come to you.”

Draco protested, “I would have been back a few days later.”

“But you wanted him to come to you. Now he is here, offering up our home to make sure you don’t try to kill yourself _again._ ”

Draco wished he could sink into the mattress.

“I never meant to be a burden.”

“I’m not saying you are. We could have left you with Bastien but I’ve been to his flat and I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. However, you need to understand these moments hurt your friends. Last time was different because you shut us out, but this time you are asking for help. You think you have a life not worth living, and it may not be worth much to you. However, your life means more to Blaise than you will ever know. It means so much to Bastien and Theo and yes, Hermione.”

“You are not mad at me?”

“Not really, you did the right thing. I am upset with Hermione for keeping her problems hidden for so long. You opened up to her, you were _vulnerable_ and she refused to be the same with us. With you.”

“Will you tell me how everyone’s feeling?” asked Draco. “I do not want them to believe she meant to hurt me.”

“Her intentions are secondary to what she did. Hermione was getting help until she thought she had control over herself. She made the decision to stop and this is the result. I know Hermione and I _know_ she wouldn’t hurt you willingly, but ...”

“But?”

“But I am looking at your face right now and I can’t see past it.”

Draco swirled the liquid around in the thermos again and again, trying to get lost in it. 

“I know I had to leave, but I also feel like it’s my fault.”

“What if it is?” asked Dean. “You pushed, and she pushed back harder.”

“And I lost her in the process.”

“Did you, though?”

Draco admitted, “The only thing I wanted was what you and Blaise have. I thought that was what I had with Hermione, but we can’t come back from this.”

“I disagree.”

Draco scoffed, “Feel free to change my mind, then.”

Dean sighed heavily.

“You and Hermione bring out the deepest parts of each other. When you became friends all those months ago, you saw your own pain reflected back at you. Then you saw a second chance. And now you look at each other and see your shortcomings. You have to take time apart to work on yourselves. Perhaps by the time you meet again, you’ll finally see the best parts of yourselves reflected in each other.”

“I like that. I like that quite a lot.” Draco raised the thermos and mumbled, “Cheers,” before downing a mouthful of Calming Drought. 

**.oOo.**

Draco woke up the following morning. He opened his eyes to the familiar ceiling of Blaise’s guest room. Sunlight filtered in through the window above the bed as Draco rolled over onto his stomach. He pressed his face into the pillow and groaned.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Draco rolled over and sat up, rubbing the crust from the corners of his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at Bastien, who replied,

“Group stuck me with the early morning watch. It’s alright, though, Padma and I have a dinner this evening. Going to talk through loads of shit, serious conversation, you know. I’m happy not to have to think about it.”

Draco yawned and asked, “Are things not going well?”

“Life is great when we get actual time together. We have done everything right, said I love you, and I have my own dresser drawer at her place. But we always seem to miss each other when we most need to be there.”

Draco kicked off the duvet and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He let his shoulders slump and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“How long do you plan to do this?”

“Shagging Padma? For as long as we both shall live would be my preference. Of course, she’ll probably be the one to propose to me. By the time I’ve got a ring picked out she’ll have scheduled a proper proposal and planned half the wedding.”

“The hovering,” Draco clarified. “How long will this watch party last?”

Bastien shrugged.

“Dunno, mate. At least until you don’t look like the love of your life smashed your face into a wall.”

“She hit me with a book.”

“God, that is such a Hermione Granger thing to do. Anyhow, this isn’t about her, it’s about you. And I’m happy to give you my mornings as long as you need them.”

“Who’s partaking?”

“Me, Blaise, Dean, and Gabriel Truman agreed to take the midnight to six shift. Pans will sub in when requested but she’s got appointments booked through February that she can’t drop.”

“What of Theo?”

Bastien’s face fell. He twined his fingers together and stared at a suddenly very interesting spot on the floor.

“He’s at work. We, um, Blaise and I ... We had a disagreement with him, is all.”

“Oh.” Draco decided he didn’t want to know any more. He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth and cringed at the plaque-heavy texture. “Right then.” He managed to divide his friends and push Theo away.

“Not a big one, just ...” Bastien hummed. “It doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with you.”

 _It has everything to do with Hermione,_ was left unsaid.

Draco slowly walked into the bathroom and didn’t bother to close the door. Bastien would open it again anyway. Draco gripped the sink with both hands and turned on the faucet so he could listen to the noise. A toothbrush had been left for him on the sink, so he found the toothpaste and brushed his teeth without glancing up at the reflection. 

He turned around to see Bastien handing him a folded t-shirt, pants, and jeans. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up to doing anything today, but sometimes it helps to feel like you could if you wanted to.”

Draco nodded and sat them on the edge of the tub. He pulled his arms inside the jumper he’d been wearing for two days and gingerly pulled it over his head. His undershirt quickly followed. As he Summoned the t-shirt, Bastien nodded to him and said,

“You look stronger than you used to.”

“Thanks.” Draco took his time getting the shirt over his head, making sure the collar didn’t touch his face. “Wish I felt that way.”

“You will. Give it time.”

Draco unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off along with his pants. He was so relieved to have a fresh pair of pants, he hadn’t realized how such a little thing had weighed on his mind. He finally stepped completely out of Friday and into Sat—wait, bloody hell, it must have been Sunday. He zipped up the new jeans and wondered how he’d lost track of so much time.

“It’s Monday, actually,” Bastien replied. “You were pretty out of it yesterday. Don’t expect you to remember much.”

Draco frowned, realizing he’d spoken aloud.

Bastien asked, “You hungry?”

Starving.

“Yeah, actually ... I am a bit.”

Bastien managed to keep the surprise off his face and said, “Right, well, Blaise has an entire buffet downstairs since it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to eat downstairs or have me bring it up here?”

“Tell Blaise I’m coming; I’ll be down in a minute.”

Bastien shuffled his feet and crossed his arms.

“That isn’t how this works.”

Draco nodded. He sat on the edge of the tub, grabbed his dirty jumper and ran his thumbs along the collar.

“I haven’t seen it.”

“Seen what?”

“What she did to me. I’ve been too afraid to see it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I need to, though. I think I refused to see a lot of things before it was too late.”

“My mistake was not warning you sooner. If you’d known, perhaps you would have been able to step away.”

“For how long? I could not sustain that forever.” Draco tossed the jumper aside and groaned. “Dean said something to me yesterday. Maybe two days ago, God only knows. But he said that right now Hermione needs Potter and Weasley. And I think, maybe, I don’t need her. I need _you._ And Blaise and Theo and everyone else who knows about all this. I have to let you help me.”

Bastien grinned.

“Dean always says the right thing, doesn’t he? It’d be irritating if he wasn’t so bloody nice.”

“But before I move forward, don’t I have to look?”

Bastien shrugged and said, “It sounds like you want to.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think it’s a Blaise question.”

“But I am asking you.”

Bastien leaned against the doorframe and stared at the wall.

“I think you’re going to look at yourself and see betrayal. It’s what we all see; we welcomed her into our family and _this_ is what she did to you? It hurt all of us. Hermione was the one person we thought could pick up the pieces of you and, I dunno, put you back together somehow. Perhaps you’re right that it has to be us, but it doesn’t change what she did to you.”

Draco nodded and stood up from his place on the tub.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Alright!” Bastien pumped his fist in the air and walked back into the bedroom. “Draco Malfoy, moving forward.”

The moment Bastien turned his back, Draco slammed his fist into the centre of the mirror and didn’t bother searching for his reflection in the cracks. _Again. Again._ Not enough. Shards of glass ricocheted off the sink and onto the floor as Draco continued to punch the mirror until his reflection was indiscernible. He kept going, _again_ , until Bastien pulled him away and slammed him back against the wall.

“YOU’RE DONE!”

Draco nodded and exhaled heavily, not resisting. He looked down at his hand. The knuckles were bloody and a few small shards of glass would need to be removed from the valleys between them. His entire body was shaking, but at least he didn’t have to dodge his reflection any longer. Bastien waved his hand to Vanish the mirror and its scattered remnants. He repeated,

“You’re done.”

**.oOo.**

Draco didn’t mind the Calming Drought. He didn’t like it, but after Christmas Day he thought he would need it more than ever. All the food had done something very strange to him. He didn’t regret it, not really, but it felt strange. They moved the Christmas celebration into Blaise and Dean’s house so Draco wouldn’t have to go anywhere.

He knew his friends did not want him to feel like a burden, but with the inconveniences piling up around him it was an inescapable conclusion. Normally he would have vomited those concerns back into the toilet, but that was no longer an option. Not with Romilda Vane watching him like a bloody hawk after dinner. Oh, right, she showed up with a shiny new engagement ring on her finger.

Gabriel Truman was beaming. The way he looked at Romilda reminded Draco of everything he’d just given up. Not spending the holiday with Hermione was an ache he had to cope with; a pain that wouldn’t dull for quite awhile. The evening was mostly a blur, anyhow. 

Theo sent over a couple handmade gifts from Scarlett and Sebastien. Draco wasn’t upset by their absence; if he was too frightened to see his own face he sure as hell didn’t want the twins looking at it. 

Romi and Gabriel gifted Draco a large box. It was made of dark cherry wood, with a small slot carved out on top and a hinge so the entire lid could be lifted when required. Romi explained,

“Part of my recovery was learning that my problems don’t have to stay with me. I’d write them on scraps of parchment and stuff them down the top. Once you feel like you have truly recovered, you get rid of the box and all your past problems go with it.”

Katie and Pansy gifted him a dildo because, “It’s okay to be solo.” Draco laughed and threw it back at Pansy.

“Bet you’ll get more use out of it than I will.”

Bastien and Padma teamed up to get him the full “recovery kit” as they called it. Muggle books for distraction and humor. A recipe notebook to write down what Blaise taught him. And, finally, an assortment of drawing pens and paper because sometimes “losing one love can be the catalyst for another.”

Goddamn, he really had a family. It wasn’t perfect, but they had kept him alive this far, hadn’t they? People who cared about him enough to drop their Christmas plans and spend the day with _him_ because _he_ was important and _he_ was worth changing for. That meant more to Draco than he could say.

After everyone left for the evening, Blaise pulled out a final present, tucked into some branches at the back of the tree. It was small, hardly sizable enough to fill his palm. It looked almost like a bracelet box, wrapped in red and green plaid paper with a gold bow on top. Draco had been supervising the dish cleaning when Blaise and Dean sat him down on a barstool.

Blaise asked, “Did you believe we forgot about you?”

“Not at all,” replied Draco. “I thought you letting me stay here was present enough.”

“Blaise and I have been talking it over these past few days, and no one needs three guest rooms.”

“So this,” Blaise placed the gift on the countertop, “is for you.”

Draco hesitated before taking the gift box and popping off the lid to reveal a key attached to a keychain attached to a silver dragon. His eyebrows sort of knitted together as Dean said,

“It’s mostly a metaphor since we use the wards more than a locked door, but Blaise and I agree like you need a place that feels safe. Until you find a place that feels like home, you are more than welcome to share ours.”

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again, without saying a word. He replaced the lid on the box and pushed it away.

“I cannot accept this.”

“Well you’re already here,” Dean offered, “seems like you have. This is only to say you don’t have to leave.”

“I told you,” Draco replied, “I don’t want to be a burden. I do not want you to keep making sacrifices for me.”

Blaise placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder. 

“The burden for me will be you going home. Then I have to pray your parents take care of you, something they have been unable to do for fifteen years. If you are here, I will not worry because you are safe. When you are feeling shitty you can always come to me because I will be down the hall instead of half the country away.”

Draco stood up and pulled them both into a hug. He felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes and rested his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. All he managed to grumble out was,

“Thanks.”

Dean patted Draco on the back as Blaise pulled the two of them in closer.

“Plus, I need someone else here to prove Blaise snores like a Troll.”

“He does.” Draco laughed. “He really does.”


	35. Wise Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has his first therapy session since the incident. It goes pretty well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited very, very lightly. Please forgive any errors.
> 
> TW: Coarse Language  
> TW: Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: References to Physical Abuse
> 
> Chapter takes place from December 27th, 2007, to January 10th, 2008.

Theo came by on the 27th.

Bastien had picked up some clothes from the manor and brought them to Blaise’s house. Draco stocked the closet and made a temporary home for himself. He needed stability more than anything else. Theo appeared nervous when he walked into the living area. Draco hadn’t seen Theo shaken up in a very long time; something had to be wrong. Dean was sitting in a chair near the door, as far away as he could be to give Draco the illusion of privacy. The longer it went on, the less he resisted the hovering.

From his spot curled up in one of the armchairs, Draco asked, “Is everything alright?”

Theo ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

“No, I, um ... I need to talk to you.”

“Are you planning to remove my status as godfather?”

“You know I’ll never do that.”

“Then sit,” Draco said, nodding to the sofa. “Not much else matters.”

Theo collapsed onto the couch. With a heavy sigh, he asked,

“Is it alright if we talk about Hermione?”

Draco stared at the coffee table. This moment, right here? This was why his friends hovered. The slightest push would send him back a week, wondering where he had gone wrong. Why hadn’t he trusted Hermione in the first place? If he had just _told her_ what he planned to do, she would have understood. Hell, she probably would have let him do it.

But that was the entire fucking point! Draco had opened up, been vulnerable, allowed her to see the deepest cuts inside him that had yet to heal. Hermione had chosen to hide hers. She tried to overcome her issues without opening up; dealt with them in secret. Draco had done that one bloody time and she couldn’t control her anger. 

He stared at the edge of the coffee table, wondering how the hell he could ever hope to move on.

“Draco?” Theo’s voice finally cut through the clamor. “Are you alright?”

“What about her?”

Theo stretched out the fingers of one hand then balled them into a fist. He pounded his knee and glanced up to the ceiling, trying to find the best way to say whatever it was.

“We spent Christmas with her.”

“You _what?!_ ” Draco laughed. When Theo’s expression didn’t change, he repeated, “Sorry, _what?_ ”

“Trace and I spent Christmas with the Potters and Weasleys because, well, the kids couldn’t see you. And I know that’s in no way your fault.”

“It’s _hers!_ ” Draco shouted back. “She took that from me!” 

“Yes,” Theo agreed, “she did.”

Draco leaned forward in his chair, seething. This felt like more of a betrayal than anything Hermione had done. 

“I left the love of my life because she hit me, and your instinct is to spend the holiday with her?”

“She was not well. God, I’ve never ...” Theo took a moment to consider his words. “I think for the first time in her life she found a problem she couldn’t solve. One she created all on her own. Padma and I went to check on her and the wards didn’t put up a fight so we knew she had to be in trouble. But she was just sitting there in a chair, completely still. She had a blank look on her face, and there was nothing in her eyes, you know? Like she wasn’t _there._ ”

Draco’s anger ebbed a bit.

“So she ... She cared?”

“Oh my God, Draco, how could you think she doesn’t? And that’s the real problem, no one understood how much she cares about you.”

“ _Cared_ ,” Draco corrected him. “She cared for me. Do not try to pretend she still does.”

Theo pressed his lips together and scanned Draco from head to toe. Theo shook his head, dissatisfied with what he saw.

“You both are very broken people. The mistake that we made, all of us, was welcoming her in and not seeing that she has problems. During your _absence_ , we all thought Hermione was sad because you were gone. Turns out Hermione was upset she never figured out how to get you to see yourself the way she looks at you, because if you did you wouldn’t have relapsed. She was ignoring her problems and focusing entirely on you. Our mistake was not understanding her struggle to deal with her own issues.”

“And?” Draco shrugged. “Even if what you are saying is true, she took her problems out on me.”

“And that was wrong.”

“But you chose to spend Christmas with her anyway?”

“Yeah,” Theo nodded, “we had to. Padma went to get Potter and Weasley then they showed up asking what the bloody hell I’d done to her. Padma didn’t come back, so I had to explain what happened then everything went to hell. She was sitting there like she’d been Confunded and all they could do was argue about what to do!”

Draco grumbled, “Sounds like them.”

“Potter immediately blamed you, said you must have done something to provoke her. Weasley, on the other hand, blamed Hermione. Dunno why, but the first thing he said was, ‘Malfoy didn’t deserve that.’ And I’ve never been so surprised in my fucking life, but then he started going off on Hermione. About how she blames other people for her problems, can’t control herself, and I just realized ... Her friends don’t understand her. When you first started going through all this, you told us that we saw what we wanted to see in you. Well we got over that, but Potter and Weasley still don’t really see Hermione for who she is. I couldn’t just ...” Theo tossed his hands in the air. “I couldn’t just leave her with them.”

“So instead of coming here to see me, you stayed by her side,” Draco shot back. 

“Yeah, Draco, I did! Dean is right there!”

He pointed to Dean, who gave him a two-finger salute in reply. 

“Dean is there because we understand you’re going to kill yourself if we leave you alone. We know you and we get it. Weasley doesn’t get it. Potter doesn’t get it. The only person who sees Hermione is Potter’s wife, who has two kids to take care of and, quite frankly, a husband who hasn’t dealt with his own shit, either. The reality is you have friends who will give up everything to make sure you’re okay. Hermione’s friends don’t even see her suffering. Hermione does not have friends who will do what everyone is doing for you. She hasn’t got it! And I don’t want to wake up to read in the _Prophet_ that the most powerful wizard in generations has gone and offed herself because everyone sees her power and no one sees her pain.”

Draco glanced down at the floor and nodded.

“I understand.”

“Good.”

“Is that all?”

“No, I want your permission to keep Hermione involved in my kids’ lives.”

Draco frowned then asked, “Why would you need my permission for that?”

“Because I can make that decision for myself, but you are their godfather. If you believe separating them from Hermione is best, then that’s what we will do. I will not overlook the fact that she hit you. She won’t be alone with them anymore, but Sebastien learns so much from her. She does what you do for Scarlett, pushing him toward what he loves. However, I understand if you don’t want her as part of our family.”

Draco thought on it for a long while. Well, he paused for a long while. He knew his answer before Theo even finished the question, only hoping for a reason to change it. When none came, he said,

“I trust Hermione to control herself around them. And I know Seb adores her. Maybe ...” He choked up a bit. “Maybe she needs someone to see her like that right now. I know I did.”

“Okay. Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“How are you doing?”

“Counting the days until I see Penelope again.”

**.oOo.**

Fourteen days later, Draco plopped down into the familiar chair across from Penelope. She looked ... Concerned, was probably the best word. Draco had almost forgotten how pretty she was. Time off had done her well, her eyes were brighter and she’d bought a new jumper. At least, it looked new. Draco couldn’t remember seeing it before. Penelope frowned as she tapped the nib of her quill against the parchment. All she managed to say was,

“You have grown quite a beard.”

His friends didn’t think so. Gabriel offered to shave it for him, but Draco declined. He would do things for himself in his own time.

“I haven’t looked in the mirror since ...” Draco shrugged and settled on, “Since.”

“Were you afraid to see what Hermione did to you?”

“I was afraid that if I saw it ... I thought that if I saw it I wouldn’t see it for what it was. There was part of me that believed I deserved this. And if I saw it I could never unsee it. Hermione would always be that to me.”

“Do you believe you deserve what she did to you?”

“No.” Draco was emphatic on that point. “I did at the beginning, but I know better now.”

“What changed?”

“If she was a better girlfriend I would have felt comfortable telling her about my relapse before it happened. If she was a better girlfriend, she would have told me she was hurting, too. She would not have taken me to be with her friends, who will always make me feel like shit.”

“It has been a month since we have seen each other,” said Penelope. “Would you like to walk me through anything?”

“No.”

“What would you like this session to be, then?”

Draco took a deep breath and replied, “I want you to tell me how to feel.”

“We have been doing this long enough for you to know I don’t do that.”

“Well ... Okay.” Draco huffed. “I am having a problem, but I do not understand it.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

“Since Hermione did ... what she did ... I have been bouncing between so many thoughts that I never know how to feel. Sometimes I think logically: Hermione hurt me, so I had to leave. If she hurt me and I stayed, there would be no incentive for her to change. I blame her for what happened and I know that to move forward I must rely on my friends. I have to want to change.”

Penelope nodded.

“All of that is accurate.”

Draco was quiet for awhile. He laced his fingers together and pressed one thumb down on top of the other.

“But then ...”

“Then you feel completely different,” Penelope guessed.

“I ... I ...” Draco opened his mouth but none of the words would come out. He shook his head and stared down at the floor.

Penelope insisted, “You do not need to speak about anything that feels too raw.”

“That’s just it.” Draco sniffled. “I finally allowed myself to love someone. I showed her my deepest pain and was happy to have her touch me. I opened myself up to her and she did this. I think about everything I lost and I am angry. I blame myself. I am sad for my friends ... I feel guilty that they had to look at my face while I never did. I take their time as they take turns watching me, ensuring I don’t hang myself with the bedsheets. I just want to piss without someone hovering at the door, but the truth is that all of it is my fault! If I hadn’t relapsed, none of this would have happened.”

“None of this would have happened _now._ ”

“If it happened later, at least I would have gotten more time with her!” shouted Draco. “I told her I loved her and two weeks later we were done. How the hell should that make me feel?”

“Betrayed.”

“Congratubloodylations, then.” Draco wiped the tears running down his face and tried to keep his voice level. “But I betrayed Hermione by not letting her in. I hurt her when I left. That is what I think about more than anything.”

“If you are up to it,” Penelope said, “I want you to talk about your darkest thoughts after what happened. Sometimes it can help to vocalize them.”

“You mean to ask whether I intended to kill myself.”

“There is no pressure to answer if you are uncomfortable.”

“I did.” Draco admitted, “I wanted to die. I was sitting on Hermione’s porch and I felt it coming on. I was numb, you know, but I knew the moment I began to feel things would be the moment I wanted to die. Because even though I was numb, my body was heavy again. I’ve always hated that feeling.”

“What did you do about it?”

“I reached out to my friends and they kept me alive because I couldn’t do it myself.” He scoffed, “Draco Malfoy, being a burden as usual. But I realized my death would be worse for them. I accepted it, that being alive is painful but I owe it to everyone in my life to try to understand why they want me to keep going. My friends see something in me that I don’t, and I owe it to them to find whatever it is.”

“Excellent.”

“Excellent?” Draco asked. “It hardly seems excellent.”

Penelope smiled softly and noted something on her parchment.

“The first reasoning you described is your logical mind. You had to leave because you respect yourself. A leads to B leads to C. Then you describe your emotional mind, where actions are driven by your heart. You are a very emotional person, Draco, and it is okay to be that way. However, where those two minds intersect is where you should base most of your decisions. Reaching out to your friends in a time of crisis and recognizing that you do not see yourself objectively, that is what we call your ‘wise mind.’”

“Huh.”

“You work with both logic and emotion. Instead of those two parts of you battling it out, find where they come together and let that speak to you.”

“You sound like Professor Trelawney.”

Penelope laughed and said, “If you were in your right mind, I’d charge you double for that remark.”

Draco smiled.

“I don’t think I realized how much I need these sessions until I couldn’t have them.”

Penelope smiled back.

“Same time next week, then?”

“Same time next week.”

**.oOo.**

“I want an hour alone.”

Draco voiced that request to Blaise after therapy. The following day, all five participants of the “watch party” gathered to discuss it. Apparently, three weeks of hovering was a difficult habit to break. It was Gabriel Truman who asked,

“Why?”

“I want to look in the mirror,” Draco revealed with a sigh.

“You need to be alone for that?”

“Yes.”

Pansy wondered, “Are you going to try to drown yourself in the tub?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Right then,” she replied, “I’m fine with it.”

Blaise and Dean huddled in their own corner of the room, speaking in hushed tones. Dean seemed to do most of the talking. Bastien, however, was the deciding factor. He turned to look at everyone and asked,

“Show of hands, who wants to give Draco the hour?”

All four of them raised their hands in unison. Bastien turned around to face Draco again and said,

“Tomorrow, nine to ten. You have one hour.”

**.oOo.**

Everyone said it was awful, but Draco did not believe his beard looked that bad. It wasn’t patchy or anything, just different. He turned his face to the right and scanned the left side. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he took a deep breath and turned to the left. There was still a faint purple tinge beneath his eye, but his face was otherwise normal. The same face he always saw in the mirror. His father’s face. There was nothing to be done about it, so Draco picked up the shaving cream and went to work. 

If Blaise knew Draco nicked his razor, he’d have a fit. It was charmed not to cut skin, but when it came to Draco Blaise had hardly been rational the past few weeks. As Draco completed the first pass, he wondered whether he was making the right choice. A beard did not have to mean he was hiding, but it did, didn’t it? By the time his left cheek was clean-shaven, Draco recognized that moving forward meant embracing who he was. He had to accept it before becoming the man he wanted to be. 

As he moved onto his right cheek, Draco wondered what he truly looked like. If he ate like a normal person, if he could run more than five kilometres without setting his lungs on fire ... What would he look like? What would he _feel_ like? 

Staring at his face, he had an inkling. Draco was most comfortable in a button-down, jacket, and tapered trousers. Or a nice, dark purple robe. He had a lovely plum robe with silver trim hanging in the back of his closet at the manor. It was too small, but he kept it anyway. It was too beautiful to give away and there was part of him that wanted to fit in it again one day. But if he moved forward, Draco saw himself being able to lift heavy things again. He could go for a run without stopping, eat a plate of food without hating himself, and perhaps carry a lover to bed again. It had been so long since he’d been strong enough to do that.

Draco placed the razor on the sink once he finished shaving his neck. He turned the water on and rinsed the remaining cream from his face. Draco towelled off and looked at his reflection.

_Better._

He parted his hair down the middle and went to work. Left side, Dutch braid, three strands. He’d done this a hundred times before, but it had been so long Draco worried he might have forgotten. _Under, under, grab a new section, under, grab a new section, under._ He did that a few more times until he ran out of hair on the left side. The Dutch braid became a lace braid, _under, under, grab a new section,_ until he reached the end of his hair on the one side. He repeated the steps on the other side of his head and pulled the braids out a bit to give them more volume. About half his hair was tied in the braids and out of his face, while the rest hung freely at the back.

Gabrielle taught him this style. It was their second date when she showed him how to transition between braids. Draco missed that particular pastime, sitting with Gabby’s head between his knees. (Just for braiding; they never quite made it to other things.) There were no surprises with Gabrielle, unlike Hermione ...

He’d been too afraid to ask. Draco played with her curls often, but she never caught on. Hermione was never one to spend time on her hair, and it meant quite a lot if she put in the effort. Draco spent so much time in his youth making fun of her hair, which he always thought was interesting. When they were younger he never would have called it beautiful, but it was certainly different. Only after the trial, after eschewing all the prejudice his parents shoved down his throat for twenty years could he see Hermione’s hair was lovely. It was one more thing he would never get to do with her; another part left unexplored.

Draco changed into a thick green jumper, cursing himself for doing it after his hair. He stretched out the collar to protect the style as he pulled it over his head. He tugged on a pair of black jeans and thick socks with little Snitches patterned across them. Draco looked at himself in the mirror and thought,

_This is the most I have looked like myself in years._

It wasn’t great, but it was progress. It was _forward,_ and isn’t that what he wanted?

He walked out of the bathroom at 9:45 and made his way downstairs. Bastien was the only other person in the house; Blaise was out grocery shopping and Dean was at work. Draco walked into the living area and said,

“Guess I didn’t need the full hour.”

Bastien looked up and dropped the copy of the _Prophet_ between his hands. Without saying a word, he stood up, wrapped one arm around Draco’s waist and the other around his shoulders. Draco hugged him back. It wasn’t the hesitant, delicate embrace Bastien had favoured over the past several months. No, this was a real hug. Bastien stayed there for awhile, until Draco realized Bastien was sobbing into the shoulder of his jumper.

“Are you alright?”

Bastien shook his head.

“I just wish it didn’t take all of this for you to get here, is all. I wish it was easier.”

“Me too,” replied Draco. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are happy and healthy. ❤️


	36. Weakness?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Started at the bottom and by the end of the chapter we are ... slightly above the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: Emotional Gaslighting/Manipulation  
> TW: References to Wartime Torture

That fourth week after the breakup was the most difficult. 

Making the decision to be better was somehow more difficult than actually trying to be better. Draco woke up each morning and wondered whether he should chug another cup of Calming Drought. Try again in eight hours, do not pass Go, do not collect £200. But every day he convinced himself to wake up at seven, shower, dress, then trudge his way downstairs.

Breakfast was the worst meal; it was difficult to begin the day with something he hated. To begin the day as a _person_ he hated. In the past, he always had to earn the day, earn the right to eat food. Breakfast was sacrilege, but during that fourth week he sat at the table and ate what Blaise put on the plate.

One plate.

He could always do one plate.

Most of it tasted like rubbish. Draco knew it didn’t really taste that way because Blaise, for all his arrogance, was a damn fine chef. Anything Blaise placed in front of him tasted like dirt in Draco’s mouth. Blaise could put the same food on a plate at lunch and Draco would eat the whole thing. It was almost comical how frustrating it was, but Draco ate the shit anyway. It gave his friends the sense of progress even if Draco did not feel the same. 

The afternoon of January 21st, a full month after the breakup, Draco spent much of the day reading one of the books Bastien and Padma gifted him for Christmas. He needed an escape, something to make him forget about the hollow feeling inside his chest. It was meant to be a lazy day; no braids, only a pin to hold up his hair at the nape of his neck. He was in an oversized jumper, pyjama bottoms, and thick socks to avoid the chill. He was nearly finished with his book when someone knocked on the front door. 

Draco heard Dean groan from an entire room away, “Just one bloody day off without visitors. I just want one.”

Draco did not pay it much mind until Dean opened the door and said,

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?!” He stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. The rest of the conversation was muffled, but loud enough for Draco to know it wasn’t pleasant.

Dean walked in several seconds later and left his guest outside. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at Draco like he did not like what he was about to say. Draco placed his book down on the side table and curled up into the chair.

Dean said, “Your father is here and he wants to talk to you.”

That could only end horribly.

“No.” Draco shook his head and repeated emphatically, “ _No._ ”

Dean’s eyes were wide as he stared down at the wood floor. He flexed his fingers then dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He was trying to keep a hold on reality, trying to avoid falling down a trail of painful memories.

Forgiveness and acceptance were two completely separate things. Dean forgave Draco’s parents for holding him hostage, for stuffing him in a cellar and leaving him to shit in a corner for a month. The reality of war made it so the Malfoy cellar was the safest place for Dean to be outside Hogwarts. Given what was going on with the Carrows inside, the cellar was arguably the safest place for Dean in all of England, but that didn’t mean he could handle it. Dean hated enclosed spaces, couldn’t even walk into his own pantry anymore without having a panic attack. The cellar was hardly six feet tall, and at six-two back then Dean could barely stand up straight. 

To know his parents played a role in that torture, that his parents had hurt the best, kindest person Draco had ever met? That was unforgivable in his eyes. While Dean forgave them, it didn’t mean he could accept their presence. When Lucius Malfoy showed up at his door unannounced, he must have brought back memories Dean did not care to remember. He tugged anxiously at the sleeve on his jumper and admitted,

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

Draco gave him a wan smile and replied, “Me either.” He placed his book on the side table and nodded toward the stairs. “Lock yourself in your room or something; I’ll see what he wants.”

“Probably to see you. It has been a month, after all.”

“He is not sentimental over me. Not in that way.” Draco stood up and insisted, “Go.”

“I am not supposed to leave you alone.”

“I can handle five minutes on my own.”

“I can’t think of a single person more likely to make you commit suicide than your father. I really can’t leave you alone with him.”

Draco placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, looked him in the eyes, and insisted, “I can do this, but I need you to trust me.”

Draco did not understand what was going on behind Dean’s eyes. He nodded and walked toward the stairs without another word. Draco took a deep breath then made his way over to the front door. 

His father looked better. Draco choked back a laugh, because the longer he could go without his son, the more Lucius Malfoy seemed to enjoy life. Hell, Draco wanted to be rid of himself most of the time, too, but for all their differences Draco saw himself reflected in his father. He asked,

“Why are you here?”

“Obviously, I want to see my son.”

“Here I am.”

“May I come in?”

“Why?”

Lucius huffed, lifted his chin, and said, “We need to speak about the business.”

Draco shook his head and opened the door wide enough for his father to walk inside. For a brief moment, he believed his father. Maybe, _maybe_ he was sentimental after all. Perhaps he wanted to be a proper father for once. Draco cursed his own naivete. He closed the door and pressed his forehead against it, praying for strength. He turned around to see his father looking side to side, assessing the house. 

“It is very ...” Lucius shook his head and spat, “ _Modern._ ”

“Not everyone prefers to live in the seventeenth century, father.” Draco brushed past him and gestured toward Blaise’s office. He sat in Blaise’s chair behind the desk and motioned for Lucius to take the visitor’s chair. “What business do we have?”

Lucius asked, “Why have you not come home?”

Draco licked his lips and pulled on the pin holding up his hair. He ran his fingers through it then pushed his hair back behind his shoulders.

“My relationship with Hermione is over, and my friends are worried about what I might do if they are not around to watch me.”

“Are they right to worry?”

Draco nodded.

“That is all I needed to hear.” Lucius tossed a piece of parchment on the desk. “You should sign this.”

Draco frowned and read the words on the page without bothering to move. 

“This is a resignation letter.”

“Yes, it is.”

Draco sat up straight and read through the whole thing. It was only three paragraphs, delegating all hiring decisions to Narcissa and giving his parents authority to hire someone to handle the estate.

“Why the hell would I sign this?”

“Because you missed a month of work. Your mother and I do not have the legal standing to hand over the day-to-day operations. You are in no state to run a business, let alone one requiring your physical presence.”

“Who would replace me?”

“Tracey Nott will divest from Fortescue’s and the distillery. I was under the impression you trust her.”

Draco nodded and confirmed, “I do.”

“She seemed to know more about your situation than she let on.”

“I am sure Theo told her what happened.”

Lucius assumed, “The girl hurt you.”

“Why would you say that?” asked Draco. He felt the anger rising, replacing the emptiness inside him. “Why would you assume she hurt me and not the other way around?”

“Because, my son, the Granger girl has a certain strength about her and you are too weak to hurt anyone.”

“You think I am weak?”

“Right now, you are weak and vulnerable, and that is fine,” Lucius replied. “Your mother and I understand this is not something we can help with. We will step back until you are ready to come home, but that requires you to sign the goddamn letter so Tracey Nott can make decisions in your absence.”

“I will sign.” He grabbed a quill and wrote his name at the bottom of the letter. He tossed the parchment back in his father’s direction and said, “Because I am always an inconvenience to you, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Lucius replied as he stood up to leave, parchment in hand. “But you are my son, Draco, you have my name and my face and I love you. I would rather see you absent than have you dead.” He paused, almost as if he wondered whether that was the proper thing to say. If Draco didn’t know better, he might even have believed his father cared. But all Lucius added was, “Lie to that Dean boy for me. Tell him he has a lovely home or whatever he will believe.”

His father left and Draco couldn’t understand what happened. He was free of the business, but he could not believe his father loved him. When had he ever? All the anger inside Draco dissipated, leaving nothing behind. He was empty once again. 

_Weak._

_You are weak._

_You are vulnerable._

_You are a walking corpse._

Draco trudged into the kitchen, dragging his feet the whole way. He stared at the recently-replenished thermos of Calming Draught and thought about silencing the voices in his head. What good would it do? He was a failure at everything, couldn’t even manage the family business anymore.

Dean came downstairs and stood by Draco, not to say anything, just to be there. Draco was grateful for his presence. It was easier not to do something stupid when Dean was around.

_I spent all that time working toward a future you knew could never happen._

_There isn’t much of you left to fall for._

“What did he want?”

Draco crossed his arms and said, “I temporarily handed over my duties as executor of the Malfoy estate. I, um, he also said some things.”

“He says a lot of shit.”

“He wanted me to tell you that you and Blaise have a lovely home.”

Dean chuckled.

“He asked you to lie?”

“He asked me to resign, then he asked me to lie. He called me weak.”

“Hmm.” Dean asked, “Why did he say that?”

“Because I am.”

“Are you, though?”

“Anorexia makes me weak. Physically, mentally, I am weak. Vulnerable. He said everything but ‘a disgrace to the Malfoy name,’ but that was heavily implied.”

“Do you think I am weak?”

“You are quite literally the strongest person I know.” Draco couldn’t help but smile. “Abs and all.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because you survived the war and did not let it change who you are. If anything, you got kinder, friendlier, and taller.”

Dean agreed, “See, when I look at you, I see someone who survived the war and afterward, you got to see yourself for who you really are. I think you were finally able to be kind, charismatic, and, yes, even taller.”

Draco smiled and nudged Dean with his shoulder.

“D’you see what I mean?” He shook his head and admitted, “You even made Blaise into a better person.”

“No, I made him understand what it takes to love someone the right way. And I think that’s what you were doing for Hermione. You loved her with such honesty that she couldn’t keep herself hidden anymore. Unfortunately, that meant you caught a book to the face. None of that is weakness, Draco. If you were weak, you’d be dead.”

“I wish my father saw it that way.”

**.oOo.**

Draco’s freedom came on quickly. 

One morning, Bastien claimed he wanted to “get some sleep.” The next day, Blaise had to go to Modena and Dean had to work. Whatever happened, they wanted it to feel organic. It was too orchestrated to be natural, but it left Draco alone. He could go anywhere and do anything; none of his friends would know. He could do exactly what he told Blaise he would do. 

Draco pulled on a heavy coat and Apparated to the Marjoribanks Gardens. He shivered against the cold. He hadn’t been outside the house since therapy four days earlier. Before that, he hadn’t left the house since ... 

_Since._

His feet moved without Draco telling them where to go. The route was second-nature, his feet had trodden this path a hundred times. The Sapworthy Pond was not quite two kilometres ahead. Draco stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and trudged forward, eyes on the ground, aware he was betraying his friends’ trust.

The pond was deserted. Practically the whole park was deserted at ten on that freezing Monday morning. It really was perfect; a serene space for anyone in need of a quiet moment. Draco stared across the pond to the footbridge on the other side. There was a bench off to his right, but he did not want to sit. 

Draco wondered what creatures he would find at the bottom of the pond. No Merpeople or Sirens, obviously, but surely its depths held something of interest. Or perhaps this pond was exactly what it appeared to be: peaceful, serene, and _empty_. Draco could be empty, too, and drain himself of every problem weighing him down. God, how he longed for that serenity. 

Draco tapped the toe of his loafer against the water and watched it ripple outward. The disturbance felt unnatural in the calm of his surroundings. It was all so still and barren, like an impressionist painting that had captured the motion of a single moment. Draco tilted his head and wondered how cold the pond would be. He frowned at the thought of gulping down mouthful after mouthful of almost-frozen pond water and found himself searching for reasons not to.

There were so many. 

When Draco died, he would take a piece of Blaise with him. Bastien would feel awful and wonder why he failed to see all of Draco’s lingering pain. Pansy would mourn in her own way, as their friendship was hidden in the moments between impolite jokes and gossip. 

His parents deserved it. If anything, the thought of ensuring Lucius was the end of the Malfoy lineage nearly propelled Draco forward. He thought Draco was vulnerable? Lucius had no idea how close he was to being the end of the Malfoy line. His mother would be despondent, never get over the loss, but she saw his pain for years and did nothing. In a way, she deserved it, too. And Theo? Well, Theo was Draco’s only true family.

Draco considered what Theo had said about Hermione. Everyone saw her power and no one saw her pain. Draco had the opposite problem, allowing pain to control him. He had lost sight of his own power. He was not weak, he would find strength somewhere, somehow. 

_If you were weak, you’d be dead._

Draco turned around on his heel and walked away. Hermione had ripped his heart and it was painful enough for Draco to know he would never do that to anyone. Hell would freeze over before he did that to Scarlett. There was truth in what Draco said earlier: his friends saw the power he had yet to find. For his friends, for his godchildren he would find it. He would eat as many breakfasts and accept his friends watching over his shoulder for as long as it took. 

There was only one way forward, and it was not at the bottom of anything.

**.oOo.**

“Hmm,” was all Penelope said when Draco admitted his suicidal thoughts hadn’t been behind him.

“I thought you would be happy,” he replied. Draco bit down anxiously on his bottom lip. “After all this, I left that moment behind me.”

It was too sunny outside. January sunlight filtered in from the window and cast shadows across Penelope’s table. Draco was trying to be positive, but he couldn’t hide much in the morning light.

Penelope shook her head and said, “I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean, you don’t like it? I finally had the opportunity to kill myself and I didn’t.”

“I am happy that you are alive, as, I’m sure, are your friends. But ... Are _you_ happy you’re alive?”

Draco frowned at the question. How could Penelope expect a succinct answer? 

He grumbled, “Yes?”

Penelope raised an amused eyebrow and wondered, “Are you asking me?”

“No. I suppose there is no point in lying, is there?” Draco paused before admitting, “I would not say I am happy about it. However, I believe I am doing the right thing.”

“Why?”

“Because my friends—”

“There it is,” Penelope said, cutting Draco off. “Over and over, for the past year we have been discussing your desire to do things for other people because you cannot find anything about yourself that is redeemable. When you have these dark moments you use your friends as an excuse to bring yourself back from the edge. The truth, Draco, is that will only help you as long as you let it. One day you will be on the edge and they won’t be enough. You have to feel like _you_ are worthy of being here. Not for your friends, but for your own sake.”

Draco nodded.

Penelope continued, “It worries me how you view your entire life in terms of your friends.”

“And my godchildren.”

“Yes, of course. Let’s take another approach, then. When you look at your future, what do you see?”

Draco stared off into a corner. How could he think about the future when everything he wanted had faded to nothing right beneath his fingertips? His future had been Hermione and he was happy with that version of his life. As he continued to avoid Penelope’s gaze, he realized he had no Hermione and therefore no future.

“Nothing.” Draco sighed and repeated, “I see absolutely nothing.”

“What would you like to see?” asked Penelope. “What is the best outcome for you going forward?”

Draco considered the question for a long time. A long enough time that he hoped Penelope would interrupt or interject with another question. One with an easier answer. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them over the other way. A full minute of fidgeting later, he shrugged and gave the best answer he could.

“I want to be free of this. I don’t enjoy thinking about dying, but I think about it all the time. My future has to be free of this, doesn’t it?”

“No. There are plenty of people who never fully recover from this and live with some version of anorexia for the rest of their lives.”

Draco giggled and wiped a tear from his eye, “My God, I could be stuck like this.” He shook his head and repeated, “Fucking hell.”

“Yes,” Penelope confirmed, “you could remain exactly where you are unless you begin to figure out why you hate yourself so much. We have spoken at length about things you have done in the past and the guilt you carry over those years of your life. But that guilt isn’t worth all of this. When you are standing there thinking about taking your own life, what makes it feel like a valid option?”

“My parents.”

“What about them?”

“I don’t want to end up like them, but they filled me with so much hate for so long that everything good inside of me started to rot. And I remember coming out of my trial thinking I deserved to go to prison. I deserved to suffer for the things I had said and done. I hated myself before then, you know, but it was different. I could compartmentalize and focus on school or trying to stay alive. I was starving myself but it was not so methodical until after my trial when I deserved hell. And Potter ... I mean, he saved me. After all the shit I did to him, that bastard continued to play the hero for no fucking reason!”

“My guess would be that Harry Potter wanted to keep you out of Azkaban because you did not deserve to be there.”

“Who the hell was he to make that determination? Perhaps I did deserve it, paying for my choices and the crimes of my father. Then I kept getting smaller and I liked it. I liked being hungry. I liked suffering because I deserved it. The less of me there was, the less I hated myself and I fucking liked it.”

“Now you don’t.”

“No,” Draco agreed, “I don’t.”

“Why do you believe that is?”

He shook his head and said, “I don’t want to answer that.”

“You know I don’t like to push, but I believe you should.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair. If he couldn’t tell Penelope, then who could he trust with this truth?

“Hermione and I were only together a few months, but when I was with her I felt like a different person. She saw me as a man who was worth something. If someone gives me the chance, I feel like I won’t turn into my father. I think I am different, that I can be a good person if I keep trying.”

Penelope smiled and noted something on her parchment.

“That is wonderful progress.”

“But ...” Draco rested his head in his hand. “There is something I am afraid of.”

“Okay,” Penelope nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, but I should.”

Another nod.

“I love her.”

“Who?”

“Hermione,” Draco replied, exasperated. “I love her, and I think I will always love her. I know she hurt me, but it was an accident. In time I will forgive her, but there has not been a single moment of the past month when I stopped loving her. I am worried because part of me will always belong with her, so how do I move forward with the rest of my life?”

Penelope insisted, “It’s okay to be in love with her, but she wronged you. She _hurt_ you and I think we should discuss how you feel about that.”

Draco frowned, confused.

“It sucks.”

“Yes, but how did you feel when she hit you?”

“I just told you, I felt shitty.”

“Draco,” Penelope’s perfectly-shaped eyebrows knitted together, “I’m asking whether you liked it.”

“Oh.”

“You said you suffered because you felt you deserved it. Do you believe you deserve what she did to you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Draco sat up a bit straighter. “In that moment I had as much clarity as I’ve ever had. I gave my body over to her in a way I have never given it to anyone else. I liked it when she touched me. I know that is a strange thing to say, but I never thought about whether there was too much of me or not enough. The sex was different with her, _better_ because I was never nervous. Not by the time I finally took that step because she waited for me to be ready. I loved her as much physically as I loved her emotionally; when she hit me she took advantage of both.”

“I like the direction you are going, but would you like to know what continues to bother me?”

“Of course.”

“You say you ‘gave’ your body to Hermione, implying that even when you are in a happy, fulfilling relationship you still do not have ownership of it. When you treat your body properly, it is because someone else is telling you to. The only thing you ever do on your own is try to destroy it. As we’ve discussed before, your body is an extension of yourself, so—”

“If I am destroying it on my own, then we are back to me living for other people.” Draco licked his lips and nodded. “I see.”

“However, we can celebrate the fact that you did not take the opportunity to, as you said, ‘do what you told Blaise you would do.’ That took strength, just as walking away from Hermione took strength. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“But am I strong enough to recover from this?”

“Absolutely,” Penelope replied without hesitation. “Think about how broken you were this time last year. Think about what you have been through since you first sat down in that chair and realized your disease had a name.”

Draco had been through so much. He’d befriended Hermione, dated her, and broken up with her. He had finally opened up to Blaise and their friendship was stronger for it. Draco was speaking to Pansy again and Bastien continued to insist all the good parts of Draco were still with him. Draco had meaningful sex for the first time. He smiled more. He hugged more, cried more, and felt like so much more of a person than he was a year earlier. But Draco was not ready to say any of that aloud. All he could say was,

“I have hair now.”


	37. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally starts letting everyone back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Coarse Language  
> TW: Reference to Suicidal Thoughts  
> TW: Past Physical Abuse

A new day meant a new braid.

Draco’s days ran together. If he didn’t have Blaise reminding him which day was Thursday, he’d never make it to therapy. Week after week, Penelope kept asking Draco what he liked about himself and he never quite found an answer. Every morning he tried a new hairstyle, because if he at least looked like he was making an effort then one day he was bound to actually do something.

One warm Tuesday in late March, he pulled all his hair into a pull-through braid, tied it off with a bobble, and tucked the end up with a couple pins to hide it. It was a big day. Huge day. Draco took a deep breath and locked his hands on either side of the sink. He looked at his reflection and said,

“You can do this. You deserve this.”

Maybe if he repeated it enough he would believe it. Draco stood up straight and made his way downstairs, shaking with excitement and anxiety. He hadn’t seen the twins in three months; of the past twelve months, he’d been absent for six of them. The two most important people in his life, and he couldn’t even be there for them? That was an untenable failure and he was finally ready to see them again. 

Theo knocked on the door at 9:02. Draco glanced over at Blaise, who opened the door with a forced neutral expression. Theo gave him an icy smile in return. Draco closed his eyes and sighed; dividing his friends was never his intent.

“UNCLE DRACO I MISSED YOU!”

He knelt down just as Scarlett and Sebastien ran into his arms. He kissed each of them on the cheek and grinned.

“I missed you both so much.”

Scarlett insisted, “I missed you more!”

“How much more?”

“Three chocolate frogs more!”

“Ooh, you’re good,” replied Draco. “But not before lunch.”

Scarlett pouted and Draco could not hold back a laugh. He sent Scarlett and Sebastien to Blaise, who would watch them until Draco was finished with this conversation. Blaise was happy for an excuse to avoid Theo. Draco stood up and pulled Theo into a hug. God, it had been so many weeks since they had been together. He was surprised when Theo hugged him back just as fiercely.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You, too.” Draco stared at the wall over Theo’s shoulder as they broke apart. “How’s Tracey?”

“She loves running the estate. We’re all doing well, but I have a feeling she’s not the woman you really want to ask me about.”

Draco nodded. He couldn’t hide much from Theo, not when he wanted to. Draco pressed his forehead into Theo’s shoulder and groaned.

“I hate this.”

“You and me both. Blaise still won’t talk to me. He thinks it’s a betrayal or some shit, as if you don’t understand what I am trying to do.”

“I understand plenty,” replied Draco, “but I don’t like it.”

“She’s a fucking mess, Draco. I don’t know if she’s getting better or worse, all I know is she’s trying. That is really all I can ask for.” Theo patted Draco on the back. “You have come such a long way from where you were, and Hermione’s got to make her way forward, too. Seb adores her, but I think Scarlett knows something is wrong.”

“She has always been perceptive.”

“Remember two Christmases ago when she managed to find her Christmas present three days early?”

Draco chuckled and lifted his head off Theo’s shoulder. 

“She’s too sneaky.”

“No, she’s too much like you.”

“God, let’s hope not.”

“Eh, you’re not all bad.” Theo grinned and clapped Draco on the shoulder. “But the twins are excited to be with you today. They’ve missed you more than they can say.”

“I hated being away from them, but ... This time last year, they said I looked sad, you know? They said I have always been sad and with Hermione I was finally happy. I didn’t want them to see me go backward.”

“I understand. And I think they understand that, too.”

Theo was right. He left and Draco fell back into his role as godfather like he’d never left it. Scarlett was a bit taller but Sebastien hadn’t changed a bit. Just before lunch, Draco was lying on the floor, swatting lazily at Seb’s dangling feet.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Scar says Miss Hermione was mean to you.”

Draco pushed Seb’s socked foot again and sighed.

“Maybe she was.”

“Is that why she’s sad now?”

Draco shrugged, not that Sebastien could see. 

“Hermione made a bad decision. She was angry and she hurt me.”

Sebastien put his book down and hopped off the sofa. He laid down on the floor at Draco’s side and asked,

“Are you okay?”

Draco considered his answer for a bit before replying, “I will be.”

“Do we hate her now?”

“NO!” Draco shouted. He shook his head and insisted, “No, she is sad and angry, but you should still love her just as much as you did before.”

“D’you love her?”

It felt like the floor disappeared from underneath him, the question was such a surprise. Sebastien looked up at him with wide eyes and Draco couldn’t bear to lie to him.

“Yes, Seb, I still love her.”

“Then I love her, too.”

**.oOo.**

The following afternoon, another visitor showed up at the front door asking for Draco. He thought it couldn’t get any worse than his father showing up unannounced; that was, until Ronald fucking Weasley appeared.

Draco slammed the door in his face.

He knocked again, Draco opened the door, and shouted,

“What the _hell_ do you want?”

“I’m here to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone around Hermione keeps going to her behind my back. I may not be the brightest bloke, but I’m not a Troll. Whatever they’re keeping from me, it’s got something to do with you.”

Draco groaned low in his throat. Of course it had to do with him. It had everything to do with him. Draco’s instinct was to shut the door, turn his back, and find a bit of Calming Drought. But deep down, he knew Weasley must have taken quite the leap of faith coming to him for help. He wanted Hermione to get better, to find whatever she needed to find within herself. 

“Fine.”

Draco opened the door and Weasley walked in like he’d been there before. Belatedly, Draco realized he had. Blaise and Dean’s wedding was a day Draco tried to forget, but it must have been quite a happy day for everyone else. 

They sat in the parlor, Draco in the armchair and Weasley on the sofa. He kept gripping his one wrist, fingers ghosting over the scars there. It appeared Weasley tried to make an effort for this visit. He wore a decent robe and wasn’t looking at Draco with quite the usual disdain. It was one of the rare moments Draco missed the manor. Blaise’s house was far larger than two, even three people could ever need. Yet, the confines of the living area felt too intimate, too _small._

Weasley wondered, “Is it ... Is it bad?”

Draco nodded. Weasley, as frustrating as he was, seemed to be truly concerned for Hermione. How could he understand what happened if he didn’t know about the anorexia? If Ron didn’t fully understand what set Hermione off, how could he grasp the role he played in it? 

“Why should I tell you?” asked Draco.

“Well fuck it, you don’t have to.” He threw his hands in the air. “I hated you for a long fucking time. _Long._ It’s been fifteen years, but I can’t anymore because Hermione is my best friend. Harry and I didn’t like it when she became friends with you, but she’s learned how to spot horrible people. For some reason Merlin only knows, she didn’t see anything awful in you. Then you ran away and she was heartbroken. I mean, she never cried like that over me—”

“Sorry,” Draco spat, “is this meant to make me feel better?”

“No, I’m trying to guilt you into telling me why everyone is keeping something away from me.”

“Because as much as you hated me, double it and you have how much I hated myself.”

Ron opened his mouth then closed it again. His eyebrows did a weird thing before they knitted themselves together. Whatever was happening up in his head, Ron Weasley couldn’t quite process it.

“But you are the cockiest arsehole I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” Draco asked, surprised. “Blaise is right upstairs.”

“You are underestimating how much I loathed you.”

“No, _you_ don’t understand.” Draco sighed heavily and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curling in on himself. “Do you know why Blaise is upstairs? Do you know why someone is always in this house?”

Ron frowned harder and guessed, “Because it’s their house?”

“If only it was so prosaic. The first month after I broke up with Hermione, my friends had me under constant surveillance because they thought I would kill myself.” Draco paused, then added, “They were not wrong.”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Draco shrugged.

“There is always someone here, now. They want to make it look natural, but I know what they are doing. They do not need to be in the same room, but they still hate leaving me alone.”

“I meant why the hell would you do that?” asked Ron. “You’ve got everything you could ever need.”

Draco laughed, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“So tell me, what’s happening? What happened? What ... _What?_ ”

“Right, so, I’ve been starving myself for over a decade. That’s the gist of it, I am in therapy for it, and I assume Hermione told Potter, his wife, etc. Obviously Theo knows, Dean knows, Romilda knows ... They are part of my life so they know.”

“Oh my God.” Ron ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “You really ... _Wow._ ”

“I was doing quite well,” Draco continued. “Then Hermione decided I needed to be more integrated into her life the way she was in mine. We went to dinner with you lot and I have no bloody idea why she thought that was a good thing to do. I have only relapsed twice, both times it was after dinner with all of you.”

Weasley leaned back on the cushions and sighed.

“We thought it was a joke. Me and Harry, I mean. She said that you made a space for her in your life, and that she loved you so she wanted there to be space in our lives for you. You can understand how mad that sounds, right?”

“No, I cannot understand why that would be a bad thing. I loved her more than I have ever loved anyone, and I would have tried to make anything work. But you and Potter and Alicia made that impossible.”

“So it’s true then?” asked Ron. “You really loved her.”

“Yes.” Draco paused for a long while and stared at the floor. He brought his knees up to his chest and curled up in the armchair. “I still love her, even after what she did to me. I do not believe there will ever be a time when I don’t.”

“She brought part of our ceiling down on me once.”

Draco’s head popped up. 

“What?”

“Yeah,” Ron said with a shrug. “I mean, not a lot of it, but enough that I was in St. Mungo’s for a few days. We told everyone it was an accident, but it wasn’t, really. I mean, I don’t think she meant for it to land _on_ me, just she kind of ... exploded. None of her magic was contained anymore, she let go of it all and it nearly took the house down. We filed our divorce papers as soon as I got out of hospital.”

“How did you let that happen?”

“I’m a cowardly arsehole is how.”

At least they could agree on something. Draco leaned his head against the side of the chair and asked,

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno what Hermione told you about our time together, but ...” Weasley shook his head and groaned. “God, I hate talking about it, you know? Because everything that happened was my fault. Hermione and I were never enough together. I mean, we were excited at the beginning but then everything sort of settled and we don’t work together. At all.”

Draco nodded for him to continue.

Ron said, “We were always around Alicia and Angie, so I knew Alicia pretty well. A bit too well, if I’m being honest, but I really liked her. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted to be with her and I couldn’t leave Hermione. Not without a reason. If I left then I’m just the man who gave up a life with Hermione bloody Granger. The brightest, most powerful person on the continent, if not the entire planet. I had her and I didn’t want her, but I didn’t want to be blamed for leaving.”

“So you ... what?” asked Draco. “Made her miserable?”

“No!” Ron shouted back, suddenly defensive. “I wanted her to see that we were growing apart. It’s not like I was the only one, she was still barmy over her beloved _Veek-toor._ I can’t compete with the biggest star in all of Quidditch, and Hermione was always too good for me anyhow. I think everybody knew that. Hell, I think _she_ knew that, but we wanted it to work because everyone told us it wouldn’t. She asked me to stop seeing so much of Alicia, and instead of asking her to stop writing letters to Krum I just ... didn’t. I kept getting closer to Alicia and further away from Hermione. She kept trying to pull me back in, trying to keep our life on track.”

“And you didn’t want it there.”

“Neither of us wanted it!” shouted Weasley. “And neither of us was brave enough to end it. I’ll admit I pushed harder than she did, but we both wanted it to be over. I was a complete arse, but she punished me for it.”

“I will never understand that.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you wanted out.” Draco looked Weasley in the eyes and said, “There has never been a moment through all this when I haven’t loved her. Looking forward, I do not believe there will ever be a time when I don’t love Hermione, so I cannot understand why you would want it to end.”

“Because she was never looking for me,” replied Ron. “Hermione is a great friend, and I love her as my best friend, but she needs someone who can support the weight of her ambition. I’m not one for politics, for Ministry business, for activism ... Harry and I, we’re family men, you know? Hermione’s not. But ...” He grit his teeth and glanced up to the ceiling. “I don’t understand how it happened. We’ve spent the past couple months trying to help her, but I think you finally made her see what I could never get her to see, that she can do both. Now she’s lost that.”

“Yes,” Draco snapped, “she has.”

“I hate that she loves you.” Weasley looked away. “It makes me angry how she cares for you; you’ve always had everything. Fucking hell, part of me is jealous. Why didn’t she ever look at me the way she looked at you?”

Draco shrugged.

“The past couple weeks I’ve been working out the answer.” Weasley slid lower down on the cushion and closed his eyes. “She said to me, ‘I finally looked forward.’ Those were her words, exactly. With me and even Viktor bloody Krum, she was always living in the moment. We spent so much time on the run that she tends to focus on the immediate problem and not consider the future.”

“That was her problem with me. Everything was about what we could be. We focused on the future we could have together, and everything we did was leading up to it. There wasn’t much in the moment, it was too forward-looking.”

“But now I think I understand. See, she’d never done that before. Looking forward, I mean, and that’s what makes me jealous. Maybe if we’d been able to see a future together then we could’ve worked out alright. We might’ve been happy together. But she saw a future with you and then when you ...” Weasley scrunched up his nose. “When you did whatever the hell you did, you threatened the future she envisioned for you. And when Hermione is threatened she explodes.”

Draco didn’t say anything. He stared at the wall as Weasley continued to tighten and loosen his grip on his wrist. Was he right? Had Hermione been so focused on their future together that she couldn’t handle something going wrong in the present? It made sense. But Ronald Weasley telling him as much did not sit well.

“How is she?” asked Draco.

“She’s doing good, yeah.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“What do you want me to say?!” he shouted back. “She’s awful, right? She moved in with her parents because if she didn’t she’d be living in her office. I’m telling you, Minister Shacklebolt personally Charmed her door so it won’t open on Sundays. Hermione throws herself into work and closes herself off to everything else. I’m over a few times a week, and when I’m not then Harry is. Your mate, Theo, he brings his kids over and that is the only time Hermione seems to be alright.”

“Yes,” Draco said with a soft smile, “they do that.”

“It’s not like we’re quite as worried as your friends must have been about you. She’s not going to kill herself.” Weasley paused and sat up straight. “Not intentionally, anyway. But her life kind of stopped once you left. We’re trying to get her back to some semblance of normalcy.”

“The world stopped turning when I left.” Draco admitted, “It took everything I had to leave her. I suppose you and I are not so different in that regard.”

“I suppose not.” Weasley asked, “Do you still see a future with her?”

Draco shrugged.

“To be honest, I am happy every morning I wake up and see a future at all.”

**.oOo.**

Draco sat on the floor by the front door and pulled on his trainers. As he tied the laces, he wondered whether he was ready for this. Draco did not know if he could run by the Sapworthy Pond without thinking about every bad thing that ever happened to him. He could make it all stop if he wanted.

He shrugged off those thoughts and stood up, ready for his first run in over three months. He pulled his right arm across his chest and held the stretch. Then he pulled his left arm across his chest and held the stretch. He went through the familiar cycle, relaxed his muscles, and released all the early morning tension.

Forward.

Bastien knocked on the door as Draco chugged a glass of water. He opened the door, walked outside, and said,

“Let’s go.”


	38. Find Your Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy has a really rough few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place April 17th - 21st, 2008.
> 
> TW: Casual References to Suicide  
> TW: Coarse Language  
> TW: Emotional Trauma

“Why are you doing this?”

It was the middle of April. Bright sunlight shone through the window of Penelope’s office, casting a wide shadow across the half her desk closest to the wall. Everything had begun to feel the same again. Therapy was repetitive; the same conversations with different words. Hell, every day was repetitive. Draco got out of bed simply because it was what he was supposed to do. He ate because he was supposed to. Draco fell backward into numbness and wondered whether, this time, he would be able to pull himself out.

“Draco?”

He shook himself from those thoughts and asked, “Sorry?”

Penelope frowned and tapped the nib of her quill against her parchment.

“I asked why you are doing this.”

“Why am I doing what?”

“I asked why you are trying to get better.”

Draco shrugged. There wasn’t really an answer. At least, none that would satisfy Penelope’s criteria.

“Everyone in my life sees some part of me that has value. It must be there, and this is the only way I know to find it.” He saw the words forming in Penelope’s mind before she could speak them. “I know, _I know_ it is me ‘living for other people,’ but I can’t find another reason! This is it, Penelope, this is what I have.”

“What do you believe that they see?”

“I don’t know!” Draco shouted back. “If I knew then I’d be working at it. I am a good friend and a good godfather when I can be. I am a good fuck, but I really do not believe that is the sort of thing you are asking for.”

“You’d be correct.”

“Then I do not have an answer to your question.”

“After a year of sessions, Draco, perhaps that is the problem,” Penelope replied. “I view you and your relationships in a different light than you seem to see them.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“You exist in a permanent state of self-loathing. Your default state is to hate yourself because you cannot stand the man your parents tried to mold you into. The man you very nearly became. Your trial saved you from that fate, but it never set you on the proper path forward. All these years you have been stuck trying to figure out who you would like to be, in a world that believes it already knows who you are.”

Draco nodded in agreement. 

“When you visit with your friends or are with your godchildren, you find a way to step out of that sadness and make those moments worth something. That is why you feel so connected to them, why you live for them: you need a reason to leave that sadness behind.”

“I don’t understand how I am meant to do that.”

“You have to find a reason why.” Penelope smiled and said, “Find your why.”

It meant nothing. To Draco, those words were so empty it left him angry. Why should it be his responsibility to find a reason to live? Wasn’t he doing enough just by trying?

“I was not always like this.”

“I know. I remember you being very funny. We were only in school together for a few years but you were always good for a laugh.”

Hadn’t Bastien said something similar?

“There is a photograph of me and Theo from when we were little. I was five or so and walking around with a tablecloth tied around my neck because in my storybook Merlin had a cape. Before I wanted to be a Quidditch player, I wanted to be Merlin. But I tripped on the edge of the tablecloth and fell onto the floor with the loudest smack I could have possibly made and Theo lost his bloody marbles. It is a great photo, me spread out like a starfish on the floor and Theo laughing so hard he nearly pissed himself.”

Penelope grinned.

“You like that, don’t you? Making other people laugh.”

“No,” replied Draco, “I like making people feel good. Sometimes it’s laughter and other times it is something else.” He paused and frowned. “I don’t really do that anymore.”

“But you can.” Penelope’s smile didn’t waver as she insisted, “Find your why.”

**.oOo.**

It took Draco a full day to work up the courage to return to Malfoy Manor. He hadn’t returned home since before Christmas, nearly four months earlier. Gwendoline should have been nearly finished renovating the important parts. Her job was to tear down the walls propping up all the painful memories; make the manor feel less like a prison and more like home. 

He flipped through the robes in his closet but nearly all of them were tight. Gaining weight was awful because he felt heavy and gross. Blaise said he looked good, but Draco couldn’t internalize that feeling. Not when Bastien, or Dean, or Pansy, or even Theo said it. “You look good” never meant Draco looked good, it meant “you took a step back from Death’s door.”

He grumbled, “Fuck it.”

Why put on any ceremony just to retrieve a photograph? Draco pulled on a lilac jumper and a pair of jeans that would leave a deep impression on his stomach by the time he took them off. He glanced in the mirror and grimaced. Draco did not look like himself at all; deep undereye circles and hair tangled from fitful sleep. He slumped his shoulders then pulled his hair into a messy bun at the top of his neck. That house did not deserve his effort.

Draco Apparated into the entryway, expecting to see Gwendoline and her staff hard at work in one of the adjoining rooms. Instead, he was met with unnaturally calm silence. He took one step forward and it was as if he disturbed the entire house. Draco glanced into the drawing room to find it half-finished. He searched the entire floor but there was no one to be found, and so much work left undone. It was as if they had left one day and simply decided not to return. He stomped upstairs like a petulant child, anger rising with each step. Why wasn’t Gwendoline working? How long had she been gone? 

His parents were together in Narcissa’s study; she sat at the desk while Lucius frowned over a letter on the settee. Draco sighed heavily and looked at his parents from where he planted himself in the doorway. They were older than he remembered, a bit more worn. His father did not sit quite as straight and his mother hadn’t bothered to put her hair up. Small things, of course, but the Malfoys were meticulous. Small things never slipped. 

Narcissa noticed him first. She stood up from behind the desk and ran to hug Draco exclaiming,

“My son, you’ve come home!”

Draco tentatively hugged her back before stepping further inside the room. He nodded at his father, who made no indication, positive or otherwise, about Draco’s reappearance. He only asked,

“Why are you here?”

To which Draco replied, “Where the bloody hell is Gwen?”

Narcissa’s smile slowly began to fade. Her mouth tightened at the corners when she revealed,

“We issued a stop-work order on behalf of the estate.”

Draco suspected they might have done it, but hearing it from his mother in such a dismissive tone ... 

“What gave you the authority?”

“Your absence,” Lucius replied. “Did you truly expect us to sit here and watch Ms. Hedgeflower destroy our home while you were gone?”

“Yes!” Draco shouted. “That is exactly what I expected you to do!”

“Is this ...” Narcissa paused to gather herself. “Is this the only reason you have come home? To yell at us?”

“Honestly, mother, I had not planned to see either of you. I only wanted to find a photo album, but I expected to see progress on this house! All of these decisions should be going through Tracey, and I know had she been informed she would have passed this bit of information along. I haven’t even seen the paintings Luna should have completed back in January.”

“I sent them back.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. He shook his head, wondering how he ever expected different. Rage built up within him all the way to his toes, and that anger had nowhere to go.

“Those were mine, and you had no right—”

Lucius cut him off.

“You took down our ancestral portraits, so I am entitled to a say in how you replace them.”

“You are not entitled to anything!” Draco shouted back. “This is my house!”

“Seeing as you have not lived in it for months—”

“I am never here because you are here!” shouted Draco. “I need to be away from you to get my life in order.”

“Why?” asked Narcissa, pain evident in her voice. “You have spent half of the past year avoiding me and your father. We let you have time to yourself in France, we let you—”

“You _let_ me?!” Draco tossed his hands in the air, seething. “Allow me to set one thing straight, mother, you do not _let_ me do anything. You and father have no legal right to this house, to our finances, and you have absolutely fuck-all authority over me. You are here because I _let_ you live here. You have money I allow you to access. I have not taken it away because you are my parents and for some bloody reason I still care about you even after what you did to me.”

“What do you believe we have done to you?”

“Do not start that,” warned Draco, “because it is a truth you are not ready to hear.”

“No, my son, please tell us about how we do not deserve whatever kindness you believe you have shown your mother and me.”

This argument was nothing new. It happened every couple of years when Draco reminded his parents their commutation forfeited their rights to the Malfoy estate. It was all his to run, his to do with as he pleased. He should have turned around and walked out the door. He could have run back to Blaise’s house and left with everything intact, but there was something different this time, a dismissiveness in his father’s tone that pushed Draco over the edge.

“You have always tried to make me into someone I am not!”

“My son, if this is about Blaise—”

“No, mother, this is not about Blaise; but you and father have made your opinions about my love life quite clear, haven’t you? Your constant prodding at me when I was with him, telling me I could never marry him because ‘Malfoy men don’t do that.’ You pushed me so hard into Gabrielle that you broke a relationship which may have otherwise worked. And then with Hermione your disdain was clear from the beginning. I loved her with everything I had, but I was so broken that I couldn’t see she needed help, too. I was too focused on fixing the parts of me that you destroyed!”

Lucius remained unbothered. His tone was flat when he asked,

“How did we hurt you, Draco?”

“You let a homicidal madman live in our house! He tortured me on _your_ floor for fun. Just because he could never see inside my head. He made me believe I was weak because I couldn’t torture people like you did. I have a conscience, father! You and the Dark Lord tried to burn it out of me but you couldn’t, so I did what I had to do to survive. When it was over I tore myself apart because nobody ever thought to try to help me deal with what I had done. No one looked twice at the man I had become because of all the pain you caused me. I am always just Draco, because Draco can handle everything on his own. He always has, hasn’t he? Draco Malfoy, good for a laugh or a shag but not much else.”

“No,” insisted Narcissa, “we never saw that anything was wrong until—”

“Until Astoria brought it up to the surface.” Draco nodded. “I know. No one cared to look. Until Hermione, no one had ever asked to see what I’d been through. 

“You would never have told us if we did.”

“Because it is your fault!” he shouted. Draco’s voice cracked on the final word, but he ploughed on. “You told me Muggles were inferior and you were wrong! You taught me that we were better because of our blood status and you were wrong! Then you brought a killer into this house, my home, where he tortured me! The only woman I have ever loved refused to come inside this house because it makes her feel weak and powerless. It makes me feel just the same. You wish to know why I stay away, mother? This house has not felt like home for well over ten years. I am beginning to see the problem does not lie within these walls, it lies in the two of you.”

Narcissa wiped tears from her eyes as Lucius shouted, “You are out of line!”

Draco shook his head and laughed.

“You will never own up to your role in this. Do you believe I would be anorexic if not for you?”

“I tried to help you!”

“You bloody well broke me and now you want credit for picking up the pieces?”

“Your mother and I—”

“Failed.” Draco cut him off. “You failed at being proper parents. If you had another son you would have given up on me long ago.”

Lucius insisted, “You never understood what it means to be a Malfoy. In that regard, Draco, you are correct that I failed. But we have always loved you.”

“That’s just it, you did not love me. You told me the sort of man you expected me to be and insisted I be it. That is not love, it’s not parenting, it is ruining my fucking life—”

“Do not use that language with us.”

“—so when I couldn’t be what you wanted, you scoffed and looked the other way. You thought as long as I found a woman, married her, and had a son I would fulfill my lifelong duty to carry on the Malfoy line.”

“You could have made things work with Blaise,” Narcissa replied. “We only ever said you needed a son, whatever form that took.”

“You are missing the point! It was never about Blaise; he has Dean and is far happier than I could have made him. It is about Hermione and Astoria. You pushed me toward the one who told me I did not deserve to live. Perhaps she didn’t mean it, but your words matter to me. So did hers, at the time. You are still trying to push me into what you want and the only way to figure out what I need is to keep you out of my life.”

“And we are meant to stay here as that horrid Hedgeflower woman demolishes our home?”

 _“My home._ ”

Draco shook his head and made for the door. Narcissa shouted after him.

“Tell us what you need us to do!”

Draco turned around and replied, “Let Gwendoline do her work. Bring Luna’s paintings back, and let me do what I need to do on my own.”

Lucius took a step forward and said, “You are breaking Malfoy tradition at every turn.”

“What should that matter to me?” asked Draco. “That is the whole point of this, father, you do not get to tell me what it means to be a Malfoy. You do not own our name anymore; it means what I want it to mean.”

“Then when will you come home?”

“When you came to visit you told me that you would rather have me absent than see me dead. Well I would rather be dead than be the man you made me.”

Of everything, that finally seemed to cut through the prejudice and force Lucius to understand Draco was serious. Lucius nodded then went very still, something shifting behind his eyes. The walls began to close in on Draco, so he said,

“I will come home when I am ready to be here.”

**.oOo.**

He ended up on his own the next day. With Hermione, Sundays were their favourite days together; the middle. It was easy to be happy with a day behind them and another in front. It was only fitting that Draco ran into Hermione on a Sunday.

Draco spent an hour or so at a bookstore in Ravenswood the day after the confrontation with his parents, quite a way off the beaten path. Hermione always said those were the best so it shouldn’t have surprised him to find her staring up at him through the window of the front door as he was walked out. 

Draco took a stunned step backward. It was as though he walked through a ghost; his skin was ice-cold and he shivered at something unnatural, _ersatz._ Whatever remained between them was tense. Tense and _wrong_. Hermione looked different, thinner even. His initial reaction was a mixture of shock and jealousy. She still held herself with a confidence Draco envied, but she had made too much of an effort for the average Sunday. She hardly looked like Hermione; her hair had been pulled back and tamed into a chignon but Draco missed the curls. She looked better than she ever had during their friendship, like she was finally putting in effort and it wasn’t for him.

For who, then?

He had no time to ask because she bolted from the door with a firm grip on her bag. Draco flung the door open and walked briskly after her.

“Hermione!” Draco picked up the pace when she didn’t turn around. “Hermione!”

She spun on a heel and turned to face him. 

“Stay there.” Hermione pointed at the three metres of space between them. “Say whatever you want to say, but stay well back. I don’t ...” She cut herself off for a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Draco doubted she would. Whomever stood in front of him was a shadow of the woman he fell in love with. There was not as much of her as there used to be; a presence whose power would fill up a room when she walked in. This Hermione would struggle to find the energy, and perhaps that was the difference. She was exhausted and Draco could say the same of himself. Draco took a step toward her and she warned,

“I mean it, _please._ I can’t ...” A tear fell down her cheek and Hermione threw her hands in the air. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

Draco took another tentative step forward.

“I imagined what it would be like to see you again.” Hermione hiked the strap of her bag further up onto her shoulder. “Each time, I never get this far because you walk away.”

Draco shook his head. 

“You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did. Four months is, um,” Hermione wiped her nose with the heel of her hand, “not a lot of time but it seems a whole world away.”

Draco stepped forward again and Hermione shook her head.

“ _Please.”_

She hadn’t raised her eyes enough to look at him. He asked,

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“I don’t have to!” Hermione shook her head as she began to cry in earnest. “Theo told me what happened, what you went through after ...”

“You threw a law compendium at my face.”

Hermione insisted, “You were right to leave. Ron said he spoke with you a few weeks ago, so you know I’ve done this before. Merlin only knows whether I would have done it again. It’s not right, what I did to either of you.”

Draco took another step so she was within arm’s reach. 

“I’m so sorry. I just need you to know that I am sorry. I can’t—there’s nothing else for me to say. I don’t want to keep you any longer, I know it’s not easy for you, because I hurt you.”

Draco took the last step to close the distance between them. Hermione refused to look up, instead opting to stare at the buttons on his robe. 

“Astoria and Blaise hurt me in ways that I can heal. You were different, Hermione. You broke my heart.”

“God, I _know!_ ” She took a shaky breath and held it in for several seconds. She crossed her arms and breathed out slowly, cautiously before she spoke again. “I was angry at myself for not seeing how our time together was causing you pain. When you tried to tell me, I hurt you even more and there’s no excuse for that.”

Draco tentatively placed a hand on her cheek and wiped a tear away with his thumb.

“I should have seen you better, too.”

For the briefest moment, Hermione relaxed beneath his touch. She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward his hand before shaking herself back into reality. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but stepped away when no words came out. Draco let his hand fall back to his side, reconciliation was right beneath his fingers as it disappeared.

_Again._

Hermione turned around and walked away. It was the opposite direction from the bookstore and Draco watched her practically jog down the street, bag bouncing against her hip, until she rounded the corner. 

Once she was out of sight, Draco’s chest began to ache. He felt like he should have run after her, but his feet wouldn’t move. It was all wrong. It occurred to Draco that he wasn’t the only one unprepared for this conversation. Perhaps the universe would bring them together when they were ready. Draco stood alone on the street, wondering if he would ever look at Hermione and feel something other than heartbreak. 

Draco Apparated back to Blaise and Dean’s house, defeated. He walked through the front door and sat on the sofa across from Dean, who asked,

“Are you okay?”

Draco shook his head.

“What happened?”

“I ran into Hermione.”

“Oh.” Dean stood up then sat on the couch next to Draco. “How did that go?”

Draco shook his head again.

“What do you need?”

Draco shrugged and said, “She couldn’t even look at me.”

“Hermione hit you. She has been dealing that in the abstract, coping with it logically like she does everything, but seeing you must have been very different. Neither of you were ready for it.”

Draco let his head fall into his hands and groaned, “But why couldn’t she look at me?”

**.oOo.**

Draco took Tracey to lunch on Monday to finalize a plan for the manor renovations. Gwendoline Hedgeflower had moved onto another project, so Malfoy Manor was part of a backlog that pushed the timeline back three months. Fortunately, Luna had not sold the commissioned artwork and was happy to send it back when the manor was ready.

When Draco was ready.

“You look better today,” said Tracey. They were nearly done with the meal as she slid the pieces of parchment into her bag. “You seem happier, almost.”

“I wouldn’t say happy.”

“I think you are a bit, though.”

Draco shrugged.

“I found my why.”

Eyebrows raised, Tracey repeated, “You found your why?”

“Penelope said the only way to move forward is to figure out _why_ I am getting better. Yesterday, I finally figured it out.”

She popped the last bit of a roll into her mouth and demanded, “Do tell.”

“I was happy with Hermione.”

“I know.” Tracey pushed her hair behind her shoulders and admitted, “I don’t agree with what Theo’s doing. He is your brother and his loyalty should be with you. We have argued about it several times and while I understand Hermione has a terrible support system, I don’t understand why he needs to help her. She hurt you and that’s the end of it.”

“I used to believe that, but now ...”

“Now?”

“I see it differently.” Draco pushed some vegetables around on his plate as his appetite vanished. “If I was not so wrapped up in my anorexia, perhaps I would have seen that Hermione was struggling. I could have helped her, gotten her back to Padma before it was too late.”

“That was never your responsibility.”

“It was, though, because I was her boyfriend. I loved her and I should have seen all the pain she tried to hide from me. How can I be upset at Potter and Weasley for ignoring it when I did the same?”

“They’ve been ignoring her for a hell of a lot longer by the sound of it. So you ran into her and now you’ve, what? Are you going to get better _for_ her? Because that sounds like you’re walking down a different path to the same miserable end.”

“No, but seeing her made me realize she is hurting, too. More than I am, even. I think she loved me as deeply as I loved her, and not only did she cause our relationship to end, but she believes she pushed me so far toward the edge I nearly killed myself.”

Tracey insisted, “She did.”

“No, I was already there and she just gave me an excuse.”

“And now you want to fix yourself so you can be with her?”

“No. The only thing I ever wanted was to love someone like that.” Draco pushed his plate away and looked Tracey in the eyes. “She hurt me, I know, but I do not blame her as much as I used to. Next time I fall in love, I hope to God that I get a second chance at it, I don’t want to be so wrapped up in my own pain that I cannot see theirs.”

“Would you give her a second chance?” asked Tracey.

“If I believed she would love me without breaking my heart, I would give her every chance.”


	39. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes on a date, but moving on isn't as easy as he wants it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in late April, 2008. 
> 
> TW: Reference to Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: Reference to Physical Abuse  
> TW: Reference to Emotional Abuse  
> CW: Reference to Sexual Acts

The days after Draco saw Hermione were a blur.

Penelope helped a bit, but she was not what Draco needed. Not that Draco knew what he needed. He drifted away from recovery again, wondering what the hell could possibly bring him back.

It was Gabriel Truman, of all people, who found it.

Romilda and Gabriel dropped off their wedding invitations in person: one for Blaise and Dean, the other for Draco and a plus-one. It felt a bit lonely, seeing all his friends together with the people they loved. Bastien had Padma, Blaise had Dean, Theo had Tracey, and Gabriel had Romilda. People seemed to come in pairs, and Draco was missing his half.

He looked at the invitation and raised an eyebrow.

“February 15th?!”

Romilda said, “We decided to have the ceremony in North Somerset, since Gabe’s family is in Bristol. My mum will travel anywhere for this and Clevedon Hall is beautiful in the winter.”

“We’d get married today if we could,” Gabe replied, “but both our mums want a big ceremony and neither of us want their disappointment hanging over our heads.”

As Romilda prattled on to Blaise, Gabriel pulled Draco into the next room and whispered, “I heard you ran into Hermione last week.”

Draco nodded.

“Not good?”

“She couldn’t even look at me.” Draco pretended to pick at something beneath his fingernail. “I think I have to move on, you know? I need to accept that part of my life might be over.”

Gabriel did not seem convinced.

“I don’t know if moving on is the answer _, but if it is_ ... I have a friend you might like. Bill and I knew him at school and he’s brilliant. Seems to be the sort you like.”

Draco chuckled low in his throat.

“He is a Curse-Breaker by trade, works a lot with his hands, a real introspective bloke. Sort of like Zabini, you know, doesn’t speak much until he gets to know you. He’s so nice, he deserves somebody willing to put in the effort and I know you want to do that. Only problem is he’s a bit older.”

“How much older?”

“He’s thirty-seven.”

Draco groaned.

Gabriel added, “He’s just got out of a long-term relationship, so he is looking for someone to trust. I think you’d be great for him.”

“How long was this relationship?”

“About eight years.”

“Bloody hell!”

“I know, I know, but I’m positive you two will hit it off. I’ve already asked him if he’s willing to give it a go and he said yes. To be honest, Bill and I wouldn’t suggest it unless we knew something would work. He’s one of my best friends, and he’s Muggle-born so being into blokes was always hard for him. He’s had such heartache these past few months and so have you, so I think perhaps the two of you will find something in each other.”

“He is an older, Muggle-born man? Checks all the boxes to piss off my parents.” Draco considered it. “And he won’t ... You know. _Mind_ about me?”

Gabriel frowned.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

“Did you tell him about ...” Draco could see Gabriel was not able to pick up on the hint. He huffed, “Did you tell him I am bisexual or does he think I’m gay?”

“Oh!” Gabriel half-shouted, embarrassed he did not pick up on the hint. “He knows, and once you meet him you’ll realize he is not the sort to care. Before I met Dean, he was the nicest person I knew. This man deserves somebody amazing and I don’t know whether you two will work out, but I think you should try.”

Draco nodded and said, “You seem set on this.”

Gabriel nodded.

“His name is James Mountcastle, and I trust you to give him an honest go. That’s all I want for him, someone to show him he’s worthwhile.”

“I can do that.”

**.oOo.**

“I can’t do this.”

Draco flipped through his closet again and frowned. He had no clue what to wear. Blaise was lounging on the bed and an amused smile across his face.

“Where are you going?”

“He is taking me to an art exhibit then out to drinks. If things go well, hopefully his flat afterward.”

“An art gallery? Bloody hell, may as well pick out the ring now,” he teased. “When was the last time you had sex with a man?”

“After you and before Astoria, so at least two years. Nearly three, perhaps?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Not really, no.” Draco paused before asking, “What if he’s shorter than me?”

“I am shorter than Dean and we ended up pretty well.”

“Hardly an apt comparison, Dean is taller than everyone, and not everyone has a soulmate like the two of you.”

Blaise softly asked, “But you do, don’t you?”

Draco ran his thumb across the cuff of one of his dress robes. He sat next to Blaise on the edge of the bed, then let himself fall backward onto the duvet. He stared at the ceiling for several moments before admitting,

“I love her more than anything, but she couldn’t even look at me.”

Another long silence settled between them. Blaise rolled onto his side and rested his head on his fist.

“I have a question for you, but you do not need to answer if it is too intimate.”

Draco closed his eyes and replied, “You are my best friend and I’ve had your dick up my arse, I think we are well past intimacy concerns.”

Blaise laughed and said, “Hermione wronged you, but the more time that passes, the more I think she made you happy in a way no one else will. If she asked, do you think you would forgive her?”

“Yes.” Draco did not need to think about it. “Yes, I would.”

“Then what is tonight about for you?”

“It’s about trying. I am not going to wait for her, to pine for her and hope she eventually wants to give our relationship another go. Gabriel speaks highly of Mountcastle, and he is not the sort to sing false praises. I went so long believing I was unlovable, then the one person I knew could love me betrayed that trust. I want to give this man a try.”

Blaise nodded and walked over to the closet.

“Wear the black jeans, then. They make your bum look fantastic.”

**.oOo.**

Draco bounced from foot to foot, anxious to find his date. He wasn’t nervous, really, but he was excited to put himself in a new situation. The crowd filtered around him as he waited in the gallery’s entrance hall. So many faces, Draco scanned each of them wondering which could be the man he would (hopefully) share the night with. Draco was finally ready to put himself in a place where he could be loved.

“Malfoy?”

Draco jumped and turned to put a face to the voice. The man extended his hand and said,

“James Mountcastle.”

The world immediately slowed and seemed to settle into a steady rhythm. The man in front of Draco had a very calming presence and he smiled before accepting the handshake. Mountcastle had short hair and a meticulously-trimmed beard, though grey had begun to peek through the brown. His brown eyes were warm and inviting, but his hands were rough and calloused which made Draco feel delicate by comparison.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“I know,” James broke the handshake a moment too soon, “you are an easy man to spot in a crowd.”

“Not something that always works in my favour.”

“I like it.” James smiled at Draco and said, “It’s always nice to be with the most gorgeous man in the room.”

“Going right in with the flattery?” Draco teased.

“Honesty and flattery are one in the same with you, aren’t they?”

Draco felt himself blush. His stomach tightened up with nerves and God, it had been so long since anyone made him feel like this. Mountcastle nodded toward the exhibit and asked,

“Shall we?”

Draco nodded and they walked into the hall side-by-side. It was a Muggle museum, something different from his usual art haunts. He looked around and shivered. There was something eerie about portraits that were unable to move, frozen in time. They walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder, fingers occasionally bumping against each other. After a few minutes, Draco asked,

“Shall I call you James?”

“Yes, please.” He grimaced. “My ex called me Jamie and I’ve lost the liking for it.”

“Gabriel said you were together eight years. Ending that must have hurt.”

James paused in front of a small painting no bigger than two fists. Done on what appeared to be sketch paper, the subjects were two birds on a branch; one stood tall while the other sat inside its ramshackle nest. A light blue glow emanated from the centre, it must have been the sky, but the first bird remained outside its reach. As though the bird in the nest existed in a completely separate world on the same branch.

“ _Mourning Doves and Roses_ ,” Draco read the painting’s title aloud. “You like this one.”

“No,” replied James, “I _feel_ this one.” He sighed heavily and revealed, “My ex cheated on me with a man fifteen years younger than him. It went on for two years before he finally broke down and told me.”

“Damn.” Draco shook his head. “I am sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t be, I should have figured it out earlier. He never put in an effort for me until he started doing his hair. Then he bought new clothes and cologne, so I _thought_ it was for me. But at the same time, he distanced himself emotionally. I thought it was my fault, that I was pushing him away more than he was pulling. He let me think it was my fault for so long that I was going to quit my job to focus on our life together. Only then did he finally tell me.”

“Yet you decided to take a chance on me?” Draco frowned. “I know what you must have heard and read in the papers; my past is darker than most.”

“Gabriel spoke for you, and that means more to me than anything the papers could say.”

Draco smiled. If only the rest of the public would see him the same way.

“Well, you picked the best spot for a first date. I love to draw things, always have, and art galleries are my favourite places.”

James admitted, “Gabe tipped me off.”

Draco’s heart sank a bit.

“Ah.”

“He is very invested in the idea of you and me, for some reason. I think he wants me to move on, but ... My friends are in the phase where they try to set me up with all the gay men they know.”

“My friends are the opposite, keeping me sheltered from the rest of the world. I was surprised when Gabriel mentioned you because they tiptoe around me now.”

“Why is that?”

Draco shrugged and said, “My last relationship ended so badly I nearly killed myself.”

James nodded.

“When you are broken like that, sometimes you need people to hold you tight enough to fuse everything back together. After my relationship ended, I was floating around for the longest time, not really knowing how to do anything. It was like I lost a hand and had to relearn to do everything. So I know what it’s like and I am sorry you had to go through it.”

“It doesn’t frighten you off?” asked Draco.

“Not at all.” James stopped walking and Draco turned so they were face-to-face. “What concerns me is that you are just as broken as I am, and I don’t believe we are looking for what Gabriel thinks we need.”

“Am I so obvious?”

“It is all over your face. Hermione Granger, yeah?”

Draco grit his teeth and nodded.

“My ex abused me, played with me, made me feel like shit. We were never a partnership, I was a cook and a shag for him. I thought that was my role and he _let_ me think as much. But I have heard a lot of things about Hermione Granger and I don’t think she is that sort of person.”

Draco confirmed, “She is not.”

“Forgive me for being forward, but I do not believe your heart is yours to give.” James took Draco’s hand and said, “Mine is too bruised to take another blow, so as much as I like you already, I don’t want to try to make things work when we both know that it won’t.”

Draco sighed heavily, relieved.

“Thank God.” He pulled James into a hug and said, “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.”

“The rest of my night is yours, though.”

Draco stepped back and bumped their shoulders together.

“Do you even like art?”

“I love it! At my job I break things, open doors, force my way into places I am not meant to be. Art is the opposite of all that. This is impressive, and it is nice to look at something with the potential to transport you to a different time, or a different life. God knows I can use some of that. Art is about creating something from nothing, showing us what something can be, while I spend my life unveiling what was.”

Draco wished so desperately that his heart was available. He understood exactly what Gabriel meant when he said Mountcastle was a truly good person. Someone had taken advantage of him for a very long time, and it hurt Draco to know that.

**.oOo.**

He walked through Blaise’s front door shortly after eight the next morning. Draco’s hair was damp and he was wearing the same clothes as the night before. It was the happiest walk of shame he’d ever made. He was grinning ear-to-ear when he found Blaise and Dean in the kitchen. They were dressed in loungewear, a rare day off for both of them. Dean’s hair looked like Blaise had run his fingers through it, and there was a conspicuous red mark peeking out from Blaise’s collar.

“Looks like you two had a nice morning.”

Dean laughed and guessed, “You had a similar night?”

Draco blushed.

“A very, _very_ nice night.”

Blaise pushed a plate of breakfast toward Draco and demanded, “Tell us all about it.”

Draco bit off a piece of bacon and replied, “He was wonderful. Nice, good-looking, and he was very understanding about my past. The date was almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“We agreed dating each other was not where we wanted to go.” He shrugged. “The sex was great, though. As marvelous as your skills were, Blaise, last night was the best head I’ve ever received.”

“Wait,” Dean asked, “you’re not going to see him again?”

Draco shook his head.

“But his _hands_ , good God, his hands. That is all it was, though. I liked him, but I didn’t feel the way I felt with ...” Draco trailed off and tossed the strip of bacon back on the plate. “I know what love feels like now, and last night was not it. He will be a good friend, but he’s not ...”

“Hermione,” Dean finished. “He’s not Hermione.”

“No, he is not.”

Suddenly, Draco wasn’t hungry anymore. Blaise looked at Dean, who shook his head, and their unspoken conversation rang loudly throughout the kitchen. Something was off, almost like Draco had said something wrong. He wondered,

“Am I missing something?”

“No,” Dean replied just a bit too quickly. “Nothing.”

“You are a poor liar.” Draco turned to Blaise and asked, “What are you keeping from me?”

“Something came for you in the post.”

“Overnight?”

“Something that may or may not have been a drunken mistake on part of the sender.” Dean insisted, “I do not believe you need to read it just yet.”

“You read my letter?”

“No!” Dean said, “You know I would never do that.”

“Then why would you believe it was a mistake?”

Blaise pulled something from a drawer and tossed it on the island in front of Draco. It was a large envelope, thick enough to make a loud thump when it hit the countertop. On the front was his name written in familiar cursive letters; the way her ‘c’ and the ‘o’ were spaced just a bit further apart than the others. The ‘r’ that would nearly pass for an ‘n’. Draco swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“What is this?”

Dean answered, “I don’t know, but I think I should speak to her before—”

“You know she does not make mistakes like this,” snapped Draco. “If Hermione commits something to paper, she is sure of it. Whatever is in here, she wants me to read it.”

“Are you—”

“Just after I have a nice time on the first date I’ve been on in ages!” Draco shouted. “Ages! He held me! He did not make me feel like I was breakable or that I needed to please him in any way other than how I wanted. When he put his hands on me, I never felt anorexic, I felt _good_. I’ve never had sex like that outside Hermione, and before I can even enjoy it she wedges herself between us yet again. D’you know what he said to me?”

Blaise and Dean shook their heads.

“He said that my heart is not mine to give! When the bloody hell did I become so transparent?! It took you lot ten bloody years before you found out I had problems. Here we are, well over a year into it and I can still barely eat without feeling like rubbish! Except, now you all know how much of a failure I am. Last night I finally met someone who does not make me feel like less of a man, and I come home this morning to find Hermione’s influence hanging over my life yet again!”

“Which is why,” Dean cautioned, “I believe you should hold off.”

“No.” Draco grabbed the envelope and stalked into the living area. “I can handle it. I can handle _her._ I am a grown adult! I do not need you two hovering over me while I do it.”

He plopped into one of the armchairs and unsealed the envelope. He pulled out several pages, separated into two letters. On the top was a note that said, “READ THIS ONE FIRST.”

So he did. Draco’s heart thudded wildly in his chest when he read Hermione’s name in her own hand. To know that she thought about him long enough to write so much, that was a gift in its own right. As much as he wanted to hate her for ruining his chance with James Mountcastle, he could not deny his heart was still in Hermione’s hands. Draco took a deep breath and began to read.

> Draco,
> 
> I wonder about you all the time, knowing I have no right to ask. Are you recovering? Are you dating someone? Truthfully, if you are then I don’t want to know. It would hurt me to hear you are still in pain, but I also don’t want to hear about you making a life without me. I would give anything to be in your life as a friend, a girlfriend, or even a shag on the side. At least then you would be holding me again.
> 
> I began therapy at the start of the year. Padma has been amazing; perhaps she always was and the difference now is that I am trying. I have been making progress, you know, learning to process anger and fear and failure. Padma says it’s about relinquishing the need for control ...
> 
> Then I saw you again. Everything hit me all at once, like I hadn’t been able to see how real it was until I looked into your eyes and saw all the pain. I hurt you, I failed you, and nearly pushed you into a place so dark you could never escape. Then you came running after me as if you knew I wouldn't hurt you, but you always put more trust in me than I earned. When you touched me, I felt it all again just like the first time you fell asleep on my sofa. I longed for a future together, but this time I had already thrown it away.
> 
> I can't bring myself to see you again. Not until I can ask for your forgiveness. I have to do so much work on myself first before I could trust myself to touch you.
> 
> The night I lost you was the biggest mistake I will ever make.
> 
> And all I could say was, “I’m sorry.”
> 
> A few weeks into therapy, Padma had me write this letter to you, knowing I would never send it. After seeing you again, I think perhaps it will show you how lost I was. You said that you should have seen me better, but Draco the truth is that I never would have let you. Yes, you should have been honest when you needed me. However, I was not there for you the way I should have been.
> 
> I know I broke your heart; but I broke mine, too.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Hermione

Draco read the letter twice. He wiped away the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

_Yours._

It answered his questions, but the distance between them was wider than it had ever been. He had no control over whether she would want to reconcile. What the hell would she want to be if they did?

Draco knew he would be whatever she wanted. A friend or a fuck, he would give whatever part she asked for. It took James Mountcastle less than five minutes to pick up on it. Draco’s heart was in pieces on the floor at Hermione’s feet, but he still wanted her. He picked up the second letter, dated in late January. His hands trembled as he read along.

> Draco,
> 
> How are you? If I could ask you one question, that would be it. Theo won’t tell me anything about your condition, but I don’t know if he knows. He says he hasn’t seen you in awhile and I know it is because of me. He chose to help me when Ron and Harry couldn’t. I am forever grateful, but I cannot help but feel as if I am taking him from you.
> 
> A few weeks ago, Padma asked what I would say to you if I could see you again. I told her I’d say how much I miss you, but that’s not true. If I could only tell you one thing, more than anything I just want to say I’m sorry. I am sorry I hit you because I lost control. I would never do that intentionally and I hope you know that I did not want to hurt you.
> 
> Probably should have mentioned this first, but I am back in therapy now. Padma has me writing this letter as an attempt at catharsis. It’s stupid; I’ll never send this. But if I could, I would tell you what I have learned over the past several weeks.
> 
> The first thing Padma wanted to talk about was the incident. Why did it happen? What made me lose control? It was not that you relapsed, but that you lied. I always knew when Ron lied to me. When you admitted that you lied, I realized I had been deceiving myself. I knew you were in pain but loved you so much that I lied to myself so I would not have to see it.
> 
> We were both in such a bad place that if you were better it meant I was better.
> 
> From the time I was twelve, Ron and Harry have looked to me to solve problems. Of course, being Harry and Ron, most times if I failed to solve the problem then we would die. I always needed to have the answer. Not to say they couldn’t solve their own issues, but the big ones generally fell to me. When I learned you relapsed it meant that I did not have an answer for you. I couldn’t fix you and I had no reference for how to process that. When I realized that you lied, I lost control because I was angry at myself for being blind.
> 
> And I am so, so sorry.
> 
> As for what Alicia said all those nights ago, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the answer. I love you, you are gorgeous, and even at your lowest points you still manage to make me laugh. But that’s not it, that was never your real value to me. I told her that you are the sort of person I want to be. You recognize your limitations and ask for help when you need it. You are patient with those who deserve it (Sebastien and Scarlett) but refuse to accept disrespect. Draco, you have friends who love and respect you, who care for you even when you do not see how you deserve it.
> 
> When I hit you, I was the bad guy. My friends knew it; Ron, especially. To them I was just taking advantage of you the same way I had with him. But that’s not what I did. I never took advantage of you, I just couldn’t process the grief of knowing I had pushed you into a situation that hurt you. I can’t take that back. I should have gone with you, asked you what was wrong, I should have known, should have seen that you were crying out for help.
> 
> It took me weeks to realize what happened with you was different. Parvati said—right, I am seeing Parvati now, too. I am at therapy twice a week, back to working six days a week. I go in seven days if I can, but Minister Shacklebolt Charms my office door locked on Sundays, now. Anyhow, there is no logic to what I did to you. Parvati says my relationship with Ron was toxic from the beginning, outlined all the reasons it was, some from her personal experience with the two of us. He played with me when he was bored of what was happening between us. (Or what wasn’t.) You were never so careless with me. And that’s the problem, I suppose. I was careless with myself.
> 
> Shortly before Ronald and I divorced, I brought part of the ceiling down on him. He was in St. Mungo’s for a week. We told everyone it was an accident, and it was, but it was my fault. I should have known better than to trust myself around you. Padma was right; I never should have stopped going to therapy.
> 
> When you kissed me, I looked at my future for the first time in years. I liked what I saw: you, me, a child ... A promotion. A family. Making you proud and coming home to you every day. That was what I wanted, and what I clearly did not deserve. The day I hurt you was the worst day of my life. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I don’t want it. I hate myself for what I did to you, for ruining our future together. Now, I am learning to deal with that.
> 
> I don’t know what else I want you to know.
> 
> I hope you never give up on yourself. You are one of the strongest people I have ever known, and I hope you find a way to keep going forward. You and Harry have that in common, actually, you always find a way to keep going. Don’t let me stop you.
> 
> Always Yours,
> 
> Hermione

Draco did not know how long he sat there, tears streaming down his face, before Dean finally came in. He sat on the sofa and did not say a word. He did not reach for the letter or even prompt Draco to say something. It was ages before he finally let it out.

“She looks at me and hates herself.” He turned to face Dean and said, “That was why she couldn’t look at me.”

“Did she say that?”

“Yes.” Draco used his sleeve to wipe off his face. “She said she looked into my eyes and saw all the hurt she caused me. She is trying to move her life forward and cannot do that if I am hovering, pushing her back into the person she does not want to be. So I finally figured out what I need to do. I found my why.”

Dean frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“I have to deal with the pain. One day, if she looks at me and sees a whole person, maybe then she will be ready to ask for my forgiveness. But I have to be ready for it when that day comes. I think it is my responsibility.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

Draco stood up and said, “I think Penelope is right. The only way to move forward is by dealing with the past, and I know exactly where I have to start.”


	40. Gabrielle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco comes to terms with how his illness stole his life, starting with the first person he ever loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place shortly after the previous one. Probably early May 2008.
> 
> TW: Discussion of Purging  
> TW: Anorexia  
> CW: Reference to Physical Abuse

“She thinks it is charming, but all I see is is _small._ ”

Draco walked down the narrow streets of La Ville Basse in Carcassonne with Blaise at his side. Draco enjoyed the crowd where he could get lost in the throngs of people. Blaise, on the other hand, walked at a brisk pace looking like he was in pain. 

“It is like Modena, if Modena was dull and French, and the streets were made for Goblins, not people.”

They swerved around a restaurant table that took up two-thirds of the sidewalk. 

“If Gabrielle likes it here, there must be some redeeming qualities.”

“I suppose, if she likes Muggle tourists and the lesser cousins to Parisian restaurants. The only reason she lives here is to get away from her parents. They hoped she would be married by now.”

Draco amended, “They hoped she would be married to _me_ by now.”

“The two of you were perfect together on parchment. I believed you might give it another go, but then Astoria entered your life and there was no space for Gabrielle.”

Draco winced at the mention of Astoria. 

“I will always love Gabrielle very deeply.”

“But she is not Hermione.”

Draco agreed, “She is not Hermione. However, I have never been nervous to see her before. Even when we were dating, I was only ever happy to show up at her door. There was never any question about how I felt, but this is a different sort of visit. Almost everyone in my life knows about my anorexia, and I haven’t needed to reveal it to anyone in nearly a year. I fear I may have forgotten how to do it.”

“I wish you had said it to me straightaway. You tried to preface it too much, so I had too many thoughts. My mind went down the worst paths available to me because I never knew that ...” He paused, awkwardly, still stumbling over the word. “... _This_ was an option.”

Blaise stopped in the middle of the street.

Draco turned and asked, “Do you plan to lead the way, or am I to find her house on my own?”

Blaise kicked at the ground with the toe of his shoe and asked, “Am I next?”

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “Next?”

“You say you are starting at the beginning. If Gabrielle is the beginning, does that mean I am next? She was your first relationship, and I was the second. If you are going down the line, then logically—”

“Gabrielle was the first time I pulled away from someone I loved.” Draco patted Blaise on the shoulder and admitted, “Yes, you were the second. I suppose that, yes, you will be next.”

“I am okay with it now,” replied Blaise. “Being second.”

“You’re not—”

“We do not need to do this now.” Blaise started walking toward the end of the street then veered left. “You should focus on Gabrielle.”

Draco followed and a street of small houses came into view.

“I _am_ focused on her, but you have to know I care about what happens to your heart more than anyone else’s.”

Blaise grabbed him by the arm and hissed, “That is the problem! You need to care about your own heart, Draco! Right now you are going to tell Gabrielle what has been happening to you, and you will do it better than you did with the rest of us because you love her, you care about her, and she has always seen you for who you are.”

“I know and Gabrielle not knowing feels like a lie. She deserves to know, so I will tell her.”

“Good, then.”

“Why do I feel like we are having a row that I don’t understand?”

Blaise sighed and admitted, “I worry about you. All of this is for _her_ , and I cannot understand why you keep putting your recovery in the hands of someone who has done nothing to prove you can trust her with it.”

“I don’t understand.” Draco shook his head and insisted, “Today is for Gabrielle, and I trust her with almost everything.”

“Hermione!” Blaise shouted. “You want to recover in hopes that when Hermione gets better, the two of you will be together again. I know I was not the best friend I could have been to you when you first told me about _this,_ but I ...” He went silent and something in his face closed off. 

“No,” Draco insisted, “say what you intend to say to me.”

“It does not matter. I have no right to judge her because I hurt you, too. I understand that it was less, that it was earlier and I made up for it in some ways. But I did hurt you and I am not above her in this. I worry about you because you are not recovering for yourself. That is what I intended to say.”

“Are you asking me for the truth, Blaise?” Draco guessed, “You want to know why I can’t do this for myself?”

“It is not my place to ask.”

“Because I don’t see it. Whatever the hell it is that you and Theo and Bastien and Penelope and yes, even Hermione, see in me to make my life valuable. I don’t see it. I thought that if I started at the beginning with Gabrielle, I could find where I lost myself. Perhaps I can find the bits of Draco that were discarded during the years I hated myself. That is why I am doing this, not for Hermione. I am doing it because I love Gabby and I hate lying to her. I know that she, more than anyone, has always been able to see me.”

“Good then,” replied Blaise, “go. Take as long as you need. I will mill about in one of their restaurants until you are done. Gabrielle lives right there, in the house with the blue door.”

“I love you.”

Blaise smiled and said, “I love you, too. No matter what.” Then he was gone.

Draco briefly considered cancelling. His hands shook a bit, because Gabrielle was everything he needed at that moment. If she couldn’t handle this, Draco would not know how to move forward. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Gabrielle Delacour opened the door and looked gorgeous, as she always did. Her hair was down in loose waves that fell to her waist, and she wore a pair of jeans with a pink blouse that made her look positively adorable. Draco wished so desperately they could have made it work. Life with her would have been so easy ...

“Draco!”

Before he could respond, Gabrielle took his hand in hers and pulled him inside. She gestured to her home and rambled on in French.

“You must see the house! It is so lovely.”

Draco laughed. He had missed her so much.

“Why did you choose Carcassonne?”

“Because it is charming. I am still searching for a home like Fleur has with Bill. However, the more I think about it, the more I believe Bill is her home and the cottage is little more than a roof to their family. Perhaps instead of looking for a house I should be looking for a husband,” she said with a laugh.

“There was a time when I wanted to be that for you.”

“And I wanted you to be that for me, but I am happy with my house! There is a bakery down the street with the best baguettes in all of France.”

“Well, Gabby, I wanted t—”

“Three bedrooms here, but I love the living area. Look at the view!”

“I am sure your home is wonderful, but—”

“I bought this sofa from—”

“GABRIELLE!” Draco shouted. He lowered his voice and said, “I need to tell you something.”

“I know!” She looked a bit guilty and nervously tucked some hair behind one ear. “I know what Hermione did to you. Blaise told me, but please do not be upset with him! He was worried because you hadn’t told me.”

“Oh.” Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I am not upset about it, I should have told you myself when it happened.”

“We all thought she was better.”

“She was.”

“She never meant to hurt Ron,” Gabrielle insisted, “no matter what anyone says. He knew she could not control her magic in those moments, and he pushed anyway. But I know you, and you would never push her in that way.”

“Never.”

“Then why would she hurt you?”

Draco took a deep breath then revealed, “I relapsed.”

Gabrielle’s eyes went very wide and she took a step back.

“You are doing drugs?”

“No, it is nothing like that, but I need to tell you what happened to me so you can understand.”

“Of course.” She nodded for him to proceed. “Say what you must.”

“I hardly know where to start.” Draco sighed again and wondered whether he was doing the right thing. Was it not kinder to keep this from her? He asked, “Did you enjoy our time together?”

“Of course. It only took a few days for me to fall in love with you. How often do you fall in love with someone you’ve never slept with?” she asked. “Someone you can’t really know after only four weeks.”

“But we learned quickly, didn’t we?”

“Yes, because you never shut me out. Even after you ended things, we are still friends today. Even though I feel like you are hiding from me now.”

Draco admitted, “I am, and I want to tell you, but I don’t quite know how.”

“Are you ill?”

Draco nodded. Gabrielle hopped over the arm of the sofa and curled up on one end, then nodded for Draco to take the spot at the other. He toed off his shoes and groaned as he fell backward onto the sofa cushion.

“Blaise would have told me if you were in hospital. Is it a physical sickness, or,” she tapped one finger against her temple, “one up here.”

“Both.”

Gabrielle frowned.

“I do not understand.”

Draco looked at her and asked, “Why do you believe we broke up?”

“You ended it because you did not want to bring me into your darkness.”

Draco nodded.

“I have been ill for a very long time, even when I did not know I was, but I knew something was wrong. You did not need to be part of it.”

“I respected your choice, and I still believe it was the right one.”

“It hurts, though,” he admitted, “because if I had been able to be happy, I know I would have been happiest with you.”

She smiled.

“You will always have space in my heart, Draco Malfoy.”

Just do it. Wasn’t that what Blaise said? Don’t fuck around, don’t allow her thoughts to go down a dark path that isn’t yours. _Just do it._

“I do not know what is happening in your head,” Gabrielle said, “but it needs to stop. You have a look in your eyes that worries me.”

“I have been starving myself for ten years. That is why we broke up, and why I have been hiding it from you.” He swallowed thickly and added, “I thought you should know.”

A few different emotions flitted across Gabrielle’s face before she settled on relief.

“Thank you for telling me.” She twined her fingers together and asked, “Are you getting better?”

“I am trying. I have a therapist now, I moved in with Blaise and Dean, and I am working through what I can.”

“It hurts me to know you did that to yourself. I feel responsible for not seeing it when we were together.”

“We only went on six dates.”

“Yes, but I always saw more than you wanted me to see.”

“That is why I ended it,” Draco admitted, “If you found out, you would have gotten me to stop. I didn’t want to stop.”

“And what of your friends? Who else knows?”

“Nearly all of them.”

Gabrielle frowned and turned away.

“Why am I last to know?”

“Because I am ashamed of what is happening to me. I wanted ...” He paused and considered his words. “You are the only person who never made me feel like part of me was missing. I did not want to let go of that by admitting I have lost so much of myself through the years.”

“I do not think you are lost. Hidden, perhaps, but not lost. I am surprised Blaise never said anything to me. Are they helping you?”

“They do what they can. Things were quite bad for awhile after Hermione hit me. I believed it was my fault. I lost her, and it was my fault. As much as I loved you, Hermione was different. I saw our future together, and we both wanted the same thing. When I lost it, I had nothing. I _was_ nothing.”

“How dark did it get?”

“Worse than it had ever been.”

Gabrielle leaned back against the arm of the sofa and stretched out her legs so her toes were nearly touching Draco’s thigh. He turned away to stare at the floor, ashamed.

“But your friends were there for you?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“They choose not to ask about it. I think if they knew how deep this runs, it would make it more difficult for them to move forward. They would never look at me the same.”

Gabrielle turned her head to face him and asked, “Will you tell me?”

“Do you want to know?”

She paused to consider it for a moment. Gabrielle curled into herself and said,

“I want to know how you felt.”

“When ...?”

“When you were not eating anything. What made you feel like it was the right thing to do?”

Draco shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me what it was like, then. I want to know what it felt like.”

“Control.”

“That is an answer for your therapist,” Gabby snapped. “You are speaking to _me_ , and I want to know how awful you felt, so much that you have hidden it from me.”

Draco thought about it for a minute. 

“You know what it’s like when you wake up first thing in the morning? You’re in another world or something, one you don’t have control of. Everything is happening _to_ you, until something pulls you away. Even when the dreams hurt, even in the nightmares, there’s a moment when you wake up that you still wish you were there. The past year has been that moment on repeat.”

Gabrielle frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

Draco huffed, “Being anorexic was a nightmare, but I still preferred it to where I am now. Because at least then I believed I had control over something. I didn’t, but I thought I did. Now I have to look at my life and try to fix it.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I did not see how bad it was before.”

Gabrielle gently nudged his ankle with her foot.

“Ten years of starving yourself.” Gabrielle looked at Draco and asked, “Why would you not tell me?”

“Because it is humiliating.” He shrugged. “I never needed to explain why what I did was horrible. I felt awful for everything I had done and everything my parents had done ... I did not deserve anything.”

“You have worked so hard to be better. You deserve to be happy.”

Somehow, Draco believed it when she said it. Gabrielle hesitated, then asked,

“Do you still ... ?”

“I eat now, but I am not happy about it.”

“When _are_ you happy?”

Draco ran his hand through his hair and leaned so his left side was resting against the back cushions of the sofa. 

“When I think about how Hermione used to touch me.” He closed his eyes and remembered the first time they hugged each other. “I felt good when she touched me, like I was exactly the sort of man I wanted to be. I dunno why. All I know is that Hermione saw me as the person I always intended to be, and she made me feel like I was.” He opened his eyes and laughed. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No more weird than hating yourself so much you can’t eat.”

“Fair point.”

“I will always love you,” Gabrielle insisted. “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“But I understood why we couldn’t be together when we were. You were buried beneath so much darkness that I could never find you. It was all flashes of who you were, but perhaps Hermione finally saw past it all. Maybe that is why she makes you feel this way.”

Draco admitted, “I wish I could have made you happy.”

“You do make me happy. It’s why you are here, not because you want to talk but because you need proof that someone can be with you and be happy. Not as a girlfriend, but as a friend.”

“You’re right.”

“Don’t say that with such surprise,” Gabrielle teased.

“You are right about all of it. There are things I went through that I didn’t deserve, but I did to myself anyway.”

“Like what?”

“Starving myself had more consequences than I realized.”

Gabrielle frowned and said, “I don’t understand, I assumed ‘control’ meant this was about being thin an desirable.”

“It was never really about that. I was in a dream that I never realized was a nightmare. For example, I slept all the time. I could scarcely be awake fourteen hours of the day. Getting out of bed was exhausting, a routine in itself. Everything was routine and that was how I justified it. I ate just enough to survive.”

“You were so vibrant once, I suppose now I understand why that side of you disappeared.”

Draco sighed.

“It was all deception. I tried to make it look like I ate far more often than I did. I projected a life to my friends, my family, that I wasn’t capable of living. Every day when I returned to the manor, I headed straight to bed because I was propping up that lie with everything I had.”

“What lie?”

“That I was okay.”

Gabrielle got up and moved so she was next to Draco on the sofa and rested her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and said,

“You don’t have to hide it.”

“I know.” Draco patted her back and repeated, “I know.”

She shook her head and insisted, “You’re still ashamed to talk about it.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be terrified of food? It’s the most basic, human thing in the world, Gabby! And I could not even do that right!”

“It was never your fault you ended up where you did.”

“Isn’t that worse?” asked Draco. “I never had control until I started tearing myself apart, and not even then. It was never enough. _I_ was never enough. Thin enough, contrite enough, you name it and I was not enough of it.”

“The Greengrass girl, she made it worse. I could see it in your eyes, you were so desperate to please her.”

“She ruined everything when she moved into the manor. We were fine together until then.”

“Why?”

“I had to change habits. There was no escaping her at meals, so I ate then threw it all up. My body revolted against me almost immediately.”

“How?”

“No,” Draco shook his head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gabrielle tightened her hold and insisted, “I want to know what happened to you.”

Draco pressed his forehead onto the crown of Gabrielle’s head and went limp in her arms.

“Soon after I started purging food, the acid came up all the time. I would be in the middle of a sentence and pause because my throat was on fire. Astoria kept looking at me like she knew something was wrong, so I ate more food, which meant I purged more and ... It was not her fault, but I purged so much my throat was raw and I lost my voice. Then I had terrible tremors in my hands and when my hair began to fall out ...” Draco shrugged. “I realized if I kept going on that I was going to die. Back then, I didn’t want to die.”

Gabrielle played with the ends of Draco’s hair.

“Would you like to know what I think?”

“Always.”

“I think you are amazing. Pulling yourself away from those demons is more impressive than anything else you have ever done.”

Draco asked, “Is that meant to make me feel better?”

“Yes. Saved by your vanity, your hair, of all things?” She laughed. “That is the most Draco Malfoy thing I have ever heard. You were born into darkness and you still managed to find the light through it all. It may not feel valuable to you, but it makes you a wonderful friend.”

“How do you mean?”

“You could have given up or given in, but even through your own darkness you became the best godfather you could be. You gave Blaise the confidence to love, and instead of casting your parents out of your life, you have given them chance after chance because you see _something_ there, even if you do not know what it is. You always find the light, Draco, no matter how long it takes you to get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count has been upped to 50. Thank you for sticking with this story and I hope to update more frequently now.


	41. Blaise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise finally admits how Draco's eating disorder has been affecting him. (And for how long.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the entire thing this evening, so please forgive any errors. 
> 
> CW: References to Sexual Acts  
> TW: References to Suicide  
> TW: References to Physical Abuse

Theo came to the house in early May and Blaise slammed the door in his face.

“Come _on,_ Blaise!” Theo shouted through the door. “Haven’t you had enough of this?”

“No.”

Draco rolled his eyes and said, “Let him in.”

“This is my house, and traitors stay outside.”

“I’m a traitor, now?” Theo asked, aghast.

“What else do you call it when you side with your brother’s abusive ex-girlfriend?!” Blaise shouted back. “Traitor sounds perfectly appropriate to me.”

“It makes me empathetic, you stubborn prick!”

“Seriously, Blaise,” Draco insisted, “let him in.”

Blaise reluctantly opened the door and Theo brushed past him, bumping their shoulders along the way. Blaise slammed the door closed behind him and took a deep breath before turning around. 

“What the bloody hell do you want?”

**.oOo.**

An hour later, the entire group was situated around Blaise’s dining room table. Pansy was last to arrive, shortly after Bastien. The air was tense, with Blaise and Theo sitting at opposite ends. Draco opted for a seat in the middle, Bastien between him and Blaise while Pansy was seated to Theo’s left. Theo took a deep breath and said,

“I have called you all here to discuss a truce.”

Bastien coughed, “Traitor.”

“Oh, fuck off with that!” Theo quipped back. “I will not apologize for making sure Hermione was okay. Draco was fine with it, so I don’t know what righteousness the rest of you are laying claim to.”

Draco asked, “What sort of truce are you intending to broker?”

“Hermione has been in therapy for nearly six months now and, with the exception of Draco, she would like to apologize to you all in person.”

Draco’s heart sank. She still was not ready to see him. Would she ever be ready? He had little time to think about it as Blaise insisted,

“Tell her no.”

“Wait,” Pansy said, “perhaps we should hear her out.”

“What does she intend to say?” asked Bastien. “That she is sorry for doing to Draco what she did to Ron Weasley for years? Or is she sorry that she made Draco feel bad, but since he didn’t actually kill himself it’s fine?”

Theo shook his head.

“She carries so much guilt for what she did. I advised her against this--”

“Now you are finally speaking sensibly,” Blaise replied.

Theo glared at him and said, “I think the three of you are not ready to hear her out. I think your preconceived notions about what happened are clouding your judgement.”

“I saw Draco’s face,” Bastien snapped back, “I don’t consider that to be a preconceived notion. That’s a fucking _fact,_ mate.”

“Hermione is different now. I don’t know if it’s a good different or the right sort of different. To be honest, it makes me uncomfortable. The twins are confused because even they can tell something is off with her, but it’s hard to say what it is.”

Draco knew exactly what he meant. The woman he ran into at Diagon Alley was not Hermione Granger the way she was meant to be. He said,

“She is contained.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Theo agreed. “It’s like she is afraid to use her power anymore. I don’t think it’s healthy and I dunno how Padma does--”

“Don’t question how Padma does her job!” Bastien shot back. “We have had enough rows about Hermione that I understand how Padma views the situation. The problem is I see it differently. I see Hermione as a threat to Draco’s safety and that is the end of it.”

Draco said, “She is not a threat to me anymore.”

All four heads swiveled to look at him.

“How can you be sure?” asked Pansy. “I feel like you may not have the most unbiased eyes here.”

“No, but when I saw her last month she could not even look at me. She knows that what she did was wrong, and if she wants to apologize I believe you should let her.”

“She does not intend to apologize to you, though,” Bastien said. “I would think you would be the first person, not the last.”

“Hermione is not ready for that,” replied Theo. “To be honest, I think she misses you three. You were her friends, in a way. Potter and Weasley are doing better for her, now. She has a better support system, and she moved back into her parents’ place so they are with her all the time.”

Pansy asked, “Why would she do that?”

“For the same reason you all have kept me here.” Draco knew the words were true the moment he said them. “You did not want to leave me alone.”

Bastien raised his eyebrows.

“You thought she would kill herself?”

“No, we were concerned about a less permanent solution. Hermione was relying very heavily on Calming Draught the first few weeks. I think it was more the house than anything. She had to walk by the spot where it happened every day and moving in with her parents solved that problem.” Theo revealed, “She is selling the house.”

“Oh,” Draco lamented, “it is a nice house.”

“Not for her. Not anymore.”

He nodded and a stunted silence settled around the table. Draco wondered whether these relationships were in any way reparable, or had he permanently fractured their family? 

“I don’t see any harm in letting Granger make her case,” said Pansy. “But I wasn’t quite as involved as the two of you were.”

Bastien tapped his fingers on the table and asked, “What do you think we should do, Draco?”

“I think you go.” He was sure it was the best thing for everyone. “I think Hermione could use your acknowledgement that she is trying to be better. I get it every day, but perhaps she doesn’t.”

“Okay,” Bastien agreed. “I will hear her out.”

They all turned to look at Blaise, whose expression was still murderous. He crossed his arms and looked away.

“I will consider it.”

“Whatever.” Theo angrily stood up and made for the door. He turned around halfway there and said, “You know, Blaise, she wanted me to tell you she understands if you can’t forgive her. But I think that’s a load of Hippogriff shit and you’re just too stubborn to understand people who make mistakes and don’t intend to wallow in their guilt for the rest of time.”

Blaise did not reply. He sat there in silence, glaring a hole in the wall. Theo shook his head and left; Pansy and Bastien followed soon after. Draco retreated to his room, feeling guilty for something he couldn’t identify.

**.oOo.**

Draco was on the far side of the kitchen island as Blaise finished dinner.

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking?”

Blaise sighed.

“I do not believe Theo and I will ever get past this.”

“It hurts me to know I drove you two apart.”

“Theo drove us apart when he took Hermione’s side in this.”

“There are no sides,” said Draco. “He saw that Hermione needed help and the four of you were handling my situation as best you could. I won’t argue that Potter and Weasley are great at the emotional support thing.”

“I see it differently.”

“Of course, you do.”

Blaise tossed a towel down onto the island and asked, “Are we really doing this now?”

“I did say you were next.”

“Fine, then. What is it you want to say to me?”

“I want to know why you feel so foreign to me, now.”

Blaise frowned and repeated, “Foreign?”

“Something between us has changed since Hermione ...” Draco trailed off. He still hated to say it aloud. “Since Hermione did what she did to me.”

“Yes, I am afraid it has.”

“Why?”

“To be honest, Draco, I want to make dinner.”

“I know you well enough to know you can talk and cook at the same time.”

Blaise placed the first pan on one of the trivets.

“Do you truly wish to know what is bothering me?”

“Yes!”

“Once I understood you were going down the list of your relationships in an attempt for closure, I knew I would have to tell you that I feel separate from Gabrielle and Astoria.”

“There is a broom and Bludgers situation in your pants that certainly separates you from my other relationships.”

Blaise laughed.

“That is true, but not what I mean. Your sexuality was never in question during our relationship. I understand exactly how you experience attraction, even though it is different from me. You enjoyed riding me as much as I liked watching you do it, and I would not trade back a single one of those moments. Before you, I had never had sex with someone I loved and it elevated everything. What separates me from them, however ...”

“What is it?”

“Guilt.”

Draco’s eyebrows knitted together.

“You feel guilty about the two of us having sex?” Draco paused, even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

Blaise groaned and water began to pool in the corners of his eyes. At that moment, Draco realized the conversation he intended to have was not the one Blaise needed. 

“The truth is that you never slept with Gabrielle and Astoria spent your entire relationship trying to change you. I was the only one who ...” Blaise placed the remaining food on a trivet and braced himself against the countertop. “I am the only one of us who had my hands on you and felt exactly what was happening. I never saw it because you were clever about it, but I _felt_ it. I would hold you or be on top of you and there was always something in the back of my mind shouting to be careful because I did not want to hurt you. I know what a healthy man feels like and ... And I had my hands on you and I _knew._ ”

Draco let that statement settle between them. The silence was heavy, and Blaise couldn’t so much as look at him.

“For how long?”

“Since the first time.”

“You knew something was wrong the entire time we were together?”

Blaise hiccuped as he asked, “Are you upset?”

“No,” Draco replied, “not at all. But you never said anything, never even hinted that you knew. Why would you stay with me all that time if you believed something was wrong with me?”

Blaise shook his head and a tear dripped off the end of his nose.

“I want to know!” Draco insisted. “I want to know why--”

“Because I loved you! Is that what you want to hear? I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone. When we were together I was never competing with Theo for your affection. It was two different types of love. As long as you wanted me, I would be there for you, no matter how shit of a job I was doing. I did not care how little of you there was because you were still there with me.”

Draco folded his hands in his lap and stared at the countertop.

“I am sorry there was never enough of me left to love you back. You deserved more than I could give you.”

“I didn’t care. I wanted to be there for you, but I could not bring myself to ask what was happening. I failed you time after time. Every day I should have asked and never did.”

“I told you before, if you had pushed me for an answer I would have left you and been on my own. It would have been worse.”

“But then I could have gotten you help.”

“Where?” Draco snapped. “It took two weeks for my father to find Penelope, and I am not sure his methods were, strictly speaking, legal. I did not have the words to say what was happening to me. None of us knew the word ‘anorexia,’ we never knew there was anyone else who suffered like this. What could you have done? What could anyone have done? You couldn’t help me until I knew I was ill. I thought I was handling it!”

“Maybe you were! Maybe you were doing what you could for yourself, but you did so much more for me. While you were suffering, you still found it within yourself to teach me how to love someone. Without our time together, I would not have been the sort of man who could have given Dean what he deserves. I can never repay that, and I keep failing you _every goddamn time_ you need me.”

“Blaise, I am _living_ in your _house_. You help me cook meals I can eat without feeling guilty. Every time I turn around, you are the bridge taking me from step to step in recovery. How the hell do you think you are failing me?”

Blaise wiped his face with the inside of his shirt and took a deep breath.

“Right, alright,” he looked around and raised an eyebrow when he saw a plate. He Summoned and placed it on the island in front of them. “This is your life.”

“The empty plate is my life? Not sure I like where this metaphor is headed.”

“No matter what, there are only so many hours in a day. There is only so much you can handle in a day. I tell all my employees the same thing, never really thought I would be giving this lecture to you, but there is only so much of _you_ to go around.” Blaise scooped some peas onto the plate and said, “You have recovery.”

“Recovery is peas?”

“Yes, recovery is peas.” Blaise grabbed a dinner roll and said, “This is your day-to-day. Brushing your teeth. Getting dressed. Doing your hair. Shaving your fucking beard because, Merlin on high, if you ever grow it out again I will murder you myself.”

“I never thought it was that bad.”

“The chicken is work, for whenever you are working on the manor or whatever the hell else it is that you do.” He scooped some onto the plate. “Cauliflower cheese represents your relationships.”

“That is a full plate.”

“Precisely. Now, what if recovery gets more difficult? Where does it go?” He scooped some of the chicken into the rubbish bin and placed more peas on the plate. “And that puts a strain on your relationships.” Blaise added cauliflower cheese to the plate, tore the roll in half, and tossed the spare half into the bin. “This happens over and over again until you have nothing but a plate of mushy peas.”

Draco frowned.

“I think my plate is fairly balanced.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Yes. Hermione came into your life and you started to put things back in order. Equal parts peas, dinner roll, cauliflower cheese, and chicken. Just when we thought you had everything balanced, Hermione--”

Blaise picked up the plate and slammed it onto the countertop. Cauliflower and peas flew everywhere and Draco jumped in his seat. The plate was in four different pieces, food smeared across the island.

“--did that. She broke you and I did not see that coming. The most basic thing, and I did not see it. That is where I fail, Draco, I don’t see you.”

“Is that what you think you did?” Draco shook his head and insisted, “That was never your responsibility.”

“I am your best friend; it is my first responsibility.”

“Hermione hid her problems from all of us. It was my responsibility to see her pain and I failed her in that regard. Did I deserve what she did to me? No, but if I looked harder I might have understood that she needed to go back to Padma. Instead I expected her to be the woman I believed her to be, instead of seeing her for who she was.”

Blaise nodded.

“Now,” Draco added, “I think you need to take less responsibility for what happens to me.”

“No.”

“Listen--”

“NO!” Blaise shouted. “No more listening to you try to convince me that Hermione deserves a second chance. We welcomed her into our family, and she repaid us by breaking your face!”

“I think you need to think about it differently.”

Blaise scooped the mess off the island and into the bin.

“When you were _absent,_ Hermione and I became good friends. We have Dean and Ginny in common, after all. I told her everything I just told you. She understood how difficult it is to love you. After all, we were together nearly a year and no matter how often I told you, you never said you loved me.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” Blaise rested his elbows on the countertop and let his head fall into his hands. “Hermione listened to me like she understood. I told her how inadequate I felt in your eyes and she understood.”

“I ...” The words were choked off in Draco’s throat. “How could you ... No.” Draco shook his head. “I am sorry for anything I have ever done to make you feel inadequate. You are my family, my best friend, and the person doing more than almost anyone else to get me through this.”

Blaise conceded, “I know. I never lived up to my mother’s expectations, so I always wanted to be the person you could count on. When I needed someone, you were there for me and I wanted to be for you what you have always been to me. I have not lived up to that goal.”

“Listen to me, Blaise,” Draco waited to continue until they locked eyes. “You have.”

“How can you say that?” Blaise grimaced, more tears threatening to spill over. “You never saw what she did to you. Your face, Draco ... I will never forget it. Swollen, broken, your eye socket was the colour of cranberries.” He shook his head and said, “God, I don’t want to have this conversation anymore.”

“We are finishing this!”

“You have no idea what it’s like!” Something in Blaise snapped. “You were going to kill yourself, Draco! I know it. Theo and Bastien thought you might, but to them it was an abstract thing. I knew exactly what you felt, what you would do if we looked away for a single moment. That is why I took down all the mirrors. Why we took the reflective ornaments off the tree. I did it because I love you and I want you here with me. I sat there and I held you for hours because someone had to keep you together. I did it and I would do it again if I had to, but I should never have needed to do it in the first place! Hermione nearly pushed you over a cliff and I will not be the first step in welcoming her back. Absolutely fucking not!”

“I understand.”

“See, I do not believe that you do.”

“I understand, but--”

“No.”

“--she never meant to do it. If she was actively taking her rage out on me, it would be another matter. Hermione lost control and she is trying to get better. I understand that now. I relapsed and I am trying to get better. We are on the same path.”

“Hermione never considered suicide.”

“How do you know?” asked Draco. When Blaise did not respond, he repeated, “How can you know?”

“I suppose I don’t.”

“Exactly. We were too broken to truly love each other. Perhaps one day I will be with her again. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want that, but Hermione and I lied to each other. We hurt each other. Don’t blame her for breaking my plate. It was cracked after repeated abuse from my parents, the Dark Lord, the Wizengamot, and myself. Hermione was the final blow, but she was far from the only one.”

Blaise nodded.

“Say I agree to meet with her. Tell me why I should give her another chance.”

Draco shrugged and offered a teary smile.

“She has my heart, Blaise. I want to try to love her again when we are ready, but I can’t do that unless you are okay with it.”

Blaise was quiet for a full minute. He grabbed a fork and poked at the cauliflower cheese for awhile before saying,

“Fine.”

“You will meet with her?”

“Yes, but only because I have been blind with you for so long. I have to wonder if there is something in Hermione that I am not seeing. So I will be open to giving her a second chance, but I make no promises.”

“That is all I ask.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I am going to sit with Dean on the sofa now.”

Blaise left and Draco wasn’t hungry, but he ate some of the cauliflower cheese anyway. 

It was delicious. 

He found Dean on the sofa with Blaise asleep on his shoulder. Dean had his book balanced on his free knee and nodded at Draco when he passed by. They were quite the picture; Blaise curled up into Dean’s side, Dean with his arm placed to support Blaise’s neck ... Draco always wondered the same thing when he saw them together:

_Will I ever be worthy of that sort of love?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I joined some of the FB groups to post this work because I know this sort of story is easily lost in the shuffle. However, it's always a double-edged sword because it reminds me this fic is never going to be one that's highly recommended. It's been a year of work already, the longest fic I've ever written, and there are those moments where I get reminded I'm putting in more effort to reap ... less? Less of what, I dunno. I'm not really involved in this community so every time I dip a toe into those waters I'm reminded of how far out of the loop I've chosen to keep myself. Especially this one, which is not a story everyone can relate to. It's not baby on the doorstep, Hallmark Christmas movie, soulmate AU, this is not a widely-enjoyed cup of tea. Even some of my usual readers aren't taking a chance on this story and I ... never found my niche here, I guess. I miss writing things that make people smile. Don't want to get sad in the notes, so thank you for reading. ❤️ I know this one's hard.
> 
> Hope y'all are happy and healthy.


	42. The 28th Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vibe check at Starbucks.
> 
> (Dean is a good friend. Blaise is a good friend. Theo is a good friend.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your notes of encouragement. What I meant to say was that I hope this story continues to feel like there is a sort of truth to it, even amongst these circumstances. Also, please advise, I am too old to understand proper use of the phrase "vibe check."
> 
> TW: References to Physical Abuse  
> TW: References to Vomiting/Purging  
> CW: Candid Discussions of Sex

“Happy birthday!”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and turned so he was facing away from the door. The past few days had been awful. He could barely move around the house knowing June 5th was on the horizon.

“Come on!” Blaise groaned. “You have to get out of bed. I made pancakes!”

Draco threw a pillow at him then burrowed underneath the duvet.

“It is your _birthday!_ I made you a birthday breakfast!”

Draco rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

“I am twenty-eight.”

“Yes. I am twenty-eight, Dean is twenty-eight, and now you are twenty-eight.”

“Thought I would have my life together by now.” Draco closed his eyes and said, “All of you are on your way to happy lives. I really thought I would be married by now. Thought I’d have a son, a family, and a wife I loved. Or a husband, you know, never really thought it through. Now I am staring thirty in the face and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and slammed the door on his way out. Not a minute later, Dean opened the door and pulled the duvet off the bed. Draco yelped and curled into the fetal position with a pillow arched over his face. 

“Get your arse out of bed, Malfoy!”

“I don’t want breakfast.”

“That’s too bloody bad, because you and I are spending the day together. Get up, put on your least-conspicuous clothes, and meet me downstairs.”

**.oOo.**

Queues.

Draco hated standing in a queue. Especially when it was a queue six people deep in a Muggle coffee shop. Draco had pulled his hair up into a messy bun, put on some jeans and a black t-shirt. It took ages to lace up his trainers. He wasn’t capable of more than the basics on this day. He grumbled,

“Why are you kidnapping me on my birthday?”

“Would you rather I stuff you in a cellar?”

Draco huffed, “I deserved that.”

“Truthfully, I have lived with you long enough to see your friends are causing you stress. They wanted to throw you a party and I saw a dozen ways that could go wrong. None of them had the heart to tell me no.”

“Probably because you are too nice, an assumption I am reconsidering as the minutes drag on. what the bloody hell are we doing _here_?”

“People watching.” Dean shrugged. “No one here knows who you are. You get to be free of everything for a day.”

They moved up two spaces in line.

“I would not say they are stressing me out. It is more that they do not understand me well enough right now.”

“How do you mean?”

“Last week when we were out for our run, Bastien tried to be subtle asking me about the purging. Instead of saying it, he made these retching noises. Like, ‘How long has it been since you ... _bleeeh_?’ That’s not how it is; I made almost no noise at all, it was only ever the vomit hitting the water. When that’s done, there is bile, when that was over I would vomit up air until I was lying on the floor with nothing left in me at all. There is no room to breathe when you are doing that, much less make actual noise.”

Draco looked over to see Dean had gone a bit pale.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s ... fine. I didn’t know about the vomiting, is all.”

“Oh.” Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor as they moved up another two spots. “Can’t believe I never told you, but it all runs together now.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, God, does Blaise not know?” Draco was mortified when he realized, “I don’t believe I ever told him.”

“He does not need to know.” Dean insisted, “It is better if you don’t tell him, please trust me on that.”

“Okay.” Draco nodded and repeated, “Okay.”

They moved to order and Draco looked up at the menu, unable to decipher much of anything. Dean ordered for both of them. They stood awkwardly off to one side until Dean grabbed two proffered drinks and offered Draco a drink that was an unnaturally bright shade of pink. There were small berries and ice chips floating around inside and he poked at them with his straw.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

“You like fruit. Try it, then tell me how it tastes.”

Dean walked over to a table with a decent view of the door and Draco sat in the chair next to him. He tentatively sipped the drink and lit up when the sweet taste hit his tongue.

“It tastes like strawberry lemonade, but not quite that sweet.” He took another sip. “This is actually quite good!”

“Blaise would call this ‘expanding your palette.” Dean smiled and sipped his coffee. “Happy birthday.”

Draco stabbed at the berries with his straw.

“May I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I never intended to see this birthday.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t say anything for awhile. They watched as person after person filtered in through the door. All sorts of people, dressed in various degrees of Muggle strangeness. One man came in with a shoelace undone. Another argued with a lady behind the counter about “shots” of something. The shop itself was very earthy, decorated in comforting tones of green and brown. Draco allowed himself to relax just a little bit and sat back in his chair.

Dean asked, “When do you plan to see your parents again?”

Draco shrugged.

“I don’t know. I have so much animosity toward them that anything I could say right now would only force us further apart. They nearly ruined me.”

“But they didn’t.”

“They tried.” Draco dismissed Dean’s words with a wave of his hand. “Pureblood parents are ridiculous, anyway. There are so many unspoken rules, but the spoken ones are worse. Over and over, they tell us never to kneel. Never be subservient to anyone, because if you are then you may as well roll over and present yourself for the taking.”

Dean frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“It is about keeping your pride. If you are willing to kneel before someone, then you might as well take off your clothes and let them fuck you up the arse.”

“Is that meant as an insult?”

“It is, because this is about pride.”

Dean sipped his coffee then said, “Turns out Purebloods and Muggles are more alike than they believe.”

“They spend our childhood telling us our responsibility is to marry someone of the opposite sex and have more kids. There are so many of us who are not straight, that if they didn’t convince us it was disgusting Purebloods would be wiped out within three generations.”

“You used to care about it so much,” said Dean. “Especially second year, you were so proud to be a Pureblood.”

“I was. Then blood tradition got me tortured and almost killed. After the war it nearly got me twenty years in Azkaban.”

“Did you know early on?”

“That I was bisexual?” Draco shrugged. “Figured it out in third year and it has made my love life rather complicated. My parents pushed me toward Gabrielle, whom I never slept with. I was with Blaise for so long they threatened to kick me out of the manor if, as my father said, I ‘did not get my cock out of the Zabini boy’s arse.’ Then they pushed me into the relationship with Astoria, who would fuck my brains out if I even looked at Blaise, like if she did it well enough I would forget about men altogether.”

Dean laughed and sipped his drink.

“Your life is so strange.”

“What about you?” asked Draco. “Did you know early?”

Dean shook his head.

“No. Ginny was my first relationship and snogging her was fine. It faded away because neither of us was as into it as we should’ve been. Everyone was pairing off after the war, but Seamus and I were alone. We were twenty when we got drunk in my flat and finally ...” Dean frowned. “Let’s just say neither of us had any clue what we were doing. The next morning I woke up and realized I have been gay the entire time.” Dean nodded to himself. “It explained a lot of things.”

Draco snickered, “Surprised the two of you managed to make it work, what with the height difference.”

“The height difference had its benefits.” Dean grinned. “I was never bored, but I was with Seamus far longer than anyone should be with Seamus. I didn’t date for awhile after him, then when I finally let someone take me out again he took me to the most posh place in Wizarding England. Wanted to impress me, I suppose. That backfired when the owner stopped by our table and I fell in love with him.”

Draco laughed.

“He has never told me that story.”

“Really? My date complained about the food, and Blaise happened to be in. He came out ready to set my date on fire, then he spent the entire argument flirting with me. It was hilarious. Everyone is surprised when I tell them he’s funny, but ... I think his problem is that he has a hard time reading people. I was never difficult for him to read.”

They were quiet for awhile. Draco watched four people come through the front door, huddled together in conversation. It had been so long since his friends were together like that, out together for no reason. He ached for that normalcy. 

“Were you ever in love with Blaise?”

Draco shook himself back to reality.

“Sorry?”

Dean placed his empty cup on the table and asked, “Were you ever in love with Blaise?”

“No.” Draco shook his head and insisted, “I wasn’t. I spent our whole relationship lying to him. How can you love someone when you’re lying to them?”

“See, when I first began dating Blaise, he was nervous for me to meet you again. You were the final test to see whether this was something we could take long-term. I thought it was odd, because most people are not close friends with their ex-boyfriends.”

“You are close with Ginny.”

“You know that is not the same.”

“No,” insisted Draco, “I don’t know that.”

“Truly? You think those two things are exactly the same?”

“Yes. It would be different if I was still lusting after Blaise—”

“How was I to know you weren’t? The two of you have been close since childhood. How was I meant to compete with that? Not to mention the fact that you are gorgeous and wealthy and essentially everything I was never going to be.”

“There was never any competition. Blaise never—”

“How could I know that?” Dean grimaced and said, “I know it now, but it took him months before he was comfortable introducing me to you as his boyfriend. Of course, soon after I realized you were never a threat. If anything, I looked at you as proof that if Blaise wants to keep someone in his life then he will make space for them. Blaise wanted me as his boyfriend, and I was confident he would eventually want me as his husband. We’ve been married over a year and only after you ran off to France did I begin to put the pieces together. You still don’t understand your relationship to him.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You see Blaise as an equal, while he sees you as someone whose friendship he needs to earn. Blaise sees your life is missing something and he feels it is his responsibility to find out what that is. Because, in a way, you did that for him.”

“What do you even see in him?” asked Draco. The question had been burning a hole in him for years. “You are the kindest, least-judgemental person I have ever known. You make the people around you want to be better. Why the hell would you settle for someone like us?”

Dean did not seem surprised. He leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze toward the door.

“I like a lot of things about Blaise. I like his face, his food, and we have great sex. Very, very good. Outstanding, even. He wears expensive clothes and never spills anything on them. He chooses his words carefully. He loves house-elves and considers them creatures of equal worth. Blaise is a ridiculous man, just like the rest of your family.” Dean reconsidered. “Minus Theo.”

Draco agreed, “He is the sane one in most conversations.”

“I fell in love with Blaise because he immediately saw the truth in me that everyone overlooks.”

“Really? We just agreed Blaise is horrible at reading people.”

“But he never had a problem reading me. Everyone looks at me and sees kindness or goodness, but Blaise was the first person to understand I have to work at it. I remind myself every day that people deserve a second chance and the opportunity to fix a mistake. I love so many people and it takes effort, and Blaise is in awe of it. You see a man who is nice to everyone. Blaise sees a man who puts in the time to make sure everyone I love knows how much I appreciate their presence in my life. He sees _that_ , and it made all the difference.”

Draco placed his cup on the table and tugged anxiously on his shirtsleeve.

“Why did that upset you?”

“Because that is exactly what Hermione did for me. She was the only one who saw that I was trying, in my own failed way, to make myself into a better person. Everyone else saw me in a way, but Hermione saw the anorexia for what it was. I hated myself and did not know how to be better, so I tore away the parts I didn’t want. She was trying to show me healthier ways to be better, proving that in some ways I already was.”

“She is meeting with your friends tomorrow. How are you feeling about that?”

“I envy them.”

“Because you don’t get to see her, too?”

“I envy that she wants to see them, and not me.”

Dean insisted, “She wants to see you more than anything. Do you want my opinion?”

Draco nodded.

“I think you hate yourself so much that you don’t understand how people react to you. Hermione _broke your face_. Most relationships don’t recover from that. Hell, most of them _shouldn’t_. Hermione knows she ruined your relationship and that you nearly killed yourself because of it. She caused you so much pain, how the hell is she meant to look at you? She has accepted what she did, but she has to forgive herself before she can ask for your forgiveness. I think she is working her way there, but right now she is in no fit state to see you. My biggest concern is Blaise’s judgement. It could set her back months if he says the wrong thing.”

“If she would just ...”

Draco trailed off as the shop door opened once again. A striking man walked through the door, about Draco’s height, probably thirty or so. He had a full beard and had styled his curls, wearing an unbuttoned blazer and jeans. The top three buttons on his button-down were open and he smiled up at the menu like this coffee would be the best part of his day. Something about him made half the shop’s patrons stare as he placed his order, flirting good-naturedly with the young lady behind the counter.

Something clicked in Draco’s brain.

“Oh my God,” he realized, “that is what I should be.” He turned to Dean and said, “That’s me. Without anorexia, that’s me.”

“Yes. That is exactly how people will look at you once you accept yourself for who you are.”

**.oOo.**

“I was wrong.”

Blaise sat Draco down on the sofa the following afternoon and perched on the arm of one of the chairs. He bit down on his lower lip and looked at the floor.

“I was wrong about Hermione.”

She met with all three of them, but Bastien and Pansy were little more than window dressing. Draco hadn’t realized how deeply Blaise cared for Hermione, or how much he trusted her. Confided in her. Draco laced his fingers together and tried to tamp down the jealousy creeping up inside him. At least Blaise got to see her. He asked,

“It went well?”

“I did not say that.”

“So ... It didn’t go well?”

Blaise slid sideways and landed with a gentle clunk on the cushion. He leaned back and glanced up at the ceiling.

“You used to be amazing.”

“Yeah,” Draco laughed sardonically, “thanks.”

“You were so vibrant and lively and everything I will never be.” Blaise continued as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “Any meaning my words have has always come from silence. My words matter because there are fewer of them. I spent my time at Hogwarts in the kitchens and at desks in the furthest corner of the room trying not to be noticed by anyone. You were always the opposite, causing drama when there was none to be found, just for the sake of it. We all heard stories of the quartet you conducted in the Prefects’ bathroom. That time in Fourth Year when you swam in the lake outside the Common Room and waved at us all to prove that, ‘If Potter can do it, anyone can do it.’”

“I was right.”

“Then all the life was drained out of you. Everything you did was a pantomime. You did everything you thought the old version of you would do, because it was the only way to convince the world you were okay. Now, Hermione is doing a similar thing.”

Draco wished so desperately for the world to open up and swallow him. Knowing Hermione was going through what he felt after the war was enough to make him regret every decision that brought her to that point. All the pain, all that suffering ...

“It is as though she is afraid of herself. She is afraid of her own power.”

Draco hung his head and admitted, “That is the last thing I ever wanted to do to her. I never wanted her to second-guess her abilities.”

“She is not questioning her power, so much as her ability to control it. Personally, I believe she has it. I believe she is at a point where I would feel comfortable if you wanted to be with her again. The problem is that she does not see it that way. I think Hermione believes that she has to have perfect control before she can even set foot in the same room as you.”

Draco swallowed thickly and insisted, “I hate this.”

“She never had this problem with Weasley because she could justify it to herself. Hell, she justified it to me. Weasley pushed and pushed until she exploded. He did it time after time, knowing what would happen. Hermione felt trapped in that relationship, no matter how much they loved each other it was never enough. But she hit you once, Draco, and it destroyed her.”

Draco let that statement hang in the air. He had no way to respond because it destroyed him, too.

“There was no justifying what she did to you. I think, and there is no way for me to know, of course, but I believe she has shut the door on that part of her life.”

“On what part of her life?”

“Love,” answered Blaise. “Romance. Marriage. Hermione does not believe she will ever be able to fully trust herself to love anyone ever again. Beyond that, she does not want to. She has no intention of going down that path again.”

“Then ...” Draco couldn’t croak out another syllable.

“She has thrown herself entirely into work. She is trying to become the model employee, and by all accounts Minister Shacklebolt is very concerned. Everyone is concerned, to be honest, because it is weird. I mean ...” Blaise frowned. “She _did her hair._ ”

“So,” Draco held back the tears, “she has no intention of ever being what we were?”

“Right now, I do not believe Hermione can think that far ahead. She is day-to-day.”

“Oh my God.” Draco tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled. “ _Goddamnit!”_

“Draco, you are missing the point.”

“Then what, exactly, is the point, Blaise? Please, enlighten me since you are the only one of the two of us who has been graced with her fucking presence.”

“This is not Hermione!” Blaise sat up and threw a pillow at Draco’s head. “She is not herself right now. She has lost a fairly significant amount of weight, she spends time doing her hair in the morning, and right now she has all the charisma of Percy Weasley. Hermione believes she is the problem, so she is trying to be less of herself.”

“And she told you all this?”

“There was no need.”

“Are you a Legilimens now?”

“She was like Dean,” Blaise said, “she was a hugger. But the entire time I was there, she refused to touch me. Why is that?”

Draco guessed, “She cares about you, and she is afraid of what she might do.”

“Exactly.”

“So this is what I have done to her?” asked Draco. “I fell in love with the most powerful person on the planet and I am so awful that, because of me, she is giving up on that power.”

“This is not your fault.”

“Then whose is it?!” shouted Draco. “Whose fault is it, Blaise? Because I made one mistake, she made one mistake, and now she is suffering! Because of me!”

“The only reason Hermione is suffering so much is because she loved you deeper than she has ever loved anyone. I held you together when you fell apart and Hermione has no one to do that for her. To be direct about it, I think Harry Potter is quite unwell in a similar way to the two of you. Ron Weasley is not equipped to deal with one of them on his own, let alone both of them. Hermione is picking up her own pieces in the only way she knows how. And Theo, as much as it pains me to say it, Theo was right to care for her.”

“So what are we doing to help her?”

“The only thing you can do is to let her come back to you in her own time.” Blaise stood up from the armchair and sat next to Draco on the sofa. They both stared straight ahead as Blaise said, “When Dean and I were sleeping in separate rooms, I believed our relationship was over and it was like someone had stabbed me through the heart. He is my life, and without him I don’t see anything properly. I see the world through Dean. Hermione saw her future through you, Draco, and then she destroyed it.”

“What can I do with that?”

“You wait for her.”

“What did she say to you?” asked Draco. “What could she possibly have said that made you turn around so quickly?”

Blaise was quiet for a full minute. Draco closed his eyes and listened to the ticking of a clock, counting the seconds until Blaise spoke again.

“Bastien asked her if she could tell you one thing, what would it be? Hermione told us the one thing she wanted to do was hug you without worrying she would hurt you. It broke my heart to see her like that. To think all this time I was so blind to her, blaming her ... To be honest, Draco, I do not believe this is anyone’s fault.”

“Perhaps it’s not.” Without turning his head, staring intently at the wall in front of him, Draco said, “There is one thing I would like you to do. Consider it a belated present for my birthday.”

“Name it.”

“I want you to teach me how to eat food.”

Draco did not need to see the confusion on Blaise’s face to know it was there.

“I want you to teach me how to eat food and not hate myself afterward.”

“I can do that.”

Blaise took Draco’s hand and twined their fingers together, both of them still staring straight ahead.

“At my wedding, I told Dean that love is like bread because you need yeast and flour. Dean is the flour because I use it in everything I bake. What I failed to mention is that yeast is just as important because without it the bread will never rise. I know that our time together was the furthest we have ever been apart, but you taught me that I am capable of love. You gave me the confidence in myself to do that. Constantly, Draco, throughout my life you have been there to lift me up. Without you, I do not have Dean. Without you teaching me how to love someone with purely altruistic motivation, Dean and I would not have lasted two weeks together.”

Blaise took a deep breath and squeezed Draco’s hand.

“If I hurt Dean the way Hermione hurt you, I would never forgive myself. I would never move on from it. The fact that she is trying to be better, in her own mistaken way, shows how strong of a person she is. Hermione will find her way to recovering, and so will you.”

“How can you know?”

“Because you have spent twenty years lifting me up. The least I can do is carry you through this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the mental image of bisexual trainwreck Draco Malfoy sitting at Starbucks in a half-assed bun drinking a strawberry acai refresher? Thank you all for giving this story a chance. I know it is depressing, but I hope it feels true to character and ends up being meaningful in some way.


	43. Something Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes to therapy. Draco goes for a run. Draco takes a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place June 12th - early July, 2008.
> 
> TW: Suicidal Ideation  
> CW: Nudity

“Have you made any progress?”

Penelope’s office hadn’t changed at all in the seventeen months since Draco began therapy. He glanced out the window and stared at the sky. It was a bright, summer blue and the bit of the street he could see was bustling with people. He leaned back in his chair and asked, 

“Why can’t I enjoy any of this?”

Penelope frowned and picked up her quill.

“What do you want to enjoy?”

“This,” Draco said, waving his hand in the general direction of the window. “A beautiful, busy day, and I don’t appreciate any of it.”

“Why do you believe that is?”

Draco turned to look at her and said, “I am going backward. I think about killing myself more _now_ than I did back in January. How is that possible? I have come to every therapy appointment, made peace with most of my previous lovers and all of my friends. I have done everything I am supposed to do to get better, yet all I can think about is finally being free of myself.”

“Well you missed last week’s session—”

“A birthday present to myself.”

“—so what happened in the past two weeks to make you feel like the advances you made are not progress?”

Draco took a deep breath and crossed his right leg over his left. He leaned forward and mimed a circle with his hands.

“Blaise is teaching me to eat food, and we begin with the plate. The plate is my day. He divvies it into three sections: me, family, and the world. Those are the three entities I have to relate to in order to survive.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow, jotted that down, and said, “Sounds like Blaise Zabini may have missed his calling. Perhaps I should hire him.”

Draco laughed.

“That would be my life, my anorexia getting the wealthiest man I know another job.”

“How is the plate working for you?”

“Absolute shit.” Draco tossed his hands in the air and said, “I can’t fucking eat it! Blaise will put my favourite foods on the plate. Literally, strawberries, red potatoes, and those croquetas he makes with ham. If he puts them on individual dishes and gives me one every four hours, I am fine. But if he presents them to me on the same plate for me to eat all at once, I can’t do it. I eat the food and it tastes different. It feels heavier. How the hell does that happen?”

“Well—”

“No, I don’t need you to answer,” Draco snapped, “because I figured it out. Food is not the problem, the food is whatever I make it out to be. It is _me_ , Penelope. _I_ am the problem. I thought relating to food was the issue, meaning if I fixed that part then the rest of me would fall into place. That is not true, is it?”

“No,” Penelope shook her head, “it’s not.”

“It is not _normal._ ” Draco pointed toward the window. “The people out there, enjoying the world are normal. They are _alive_ while I am barely _existing._ Blaise is doing what he can, but I have to be a willing participant in this and I’m not. I am not healing at all, I have been concentrating on the symptom and not the cause.”

Penelope kept writing and asked, “Is there anything else you want to tell me about the past two weeks?”

“Dean kidnapped me for my birthday.”

Penelope paused her notetaking and frowned.

“Kidnapping you was a birthday present?”

“So I could avoid my friends. They are trying to normalize anorexia as much as they can, talking about it freely. Part of me appreciates it, because I do not feel like I need to hide it anymore. However, I think they are missing the point a bit.”

“What are they missing?”

“The same thing I missed: symptom versus the problem. Dean took me to a Muggle coffee shop for my birthday and we sat there for hours, watching people. Discussing important things then talking about nothing at all. It was one of the best birthdays I have had in ages because I was not hiding from anyone.”

“Weren’t you?”

“Oh.” Draco slid further down in his seat. “I suppose I was hiding from them, but not because of the eating disorder. I was hiding because they are hovering.”

“They are hovering because of your eating disorder.”

“Alright, well ... Perhaps I am still hiding from it. But I saw a man at the shop; he walked in and I immediately saw myself in him. It was the way he held himself, everyone was watching him. Ten years ago, that was me. Everyone was watching me because I was the most interesting person in whichever room I walked into. I _made_ myself the most intriguing person just by being who I was. Right now I have no bloody idea who that is.”

Penelope didn’t say anything, just wrote something down on her parchment before placing her quill at the top. She folded her hands on her desk and waited. Draco waited several moments, but he had never outlasted Penelope’s silence before. He didn’t know why he thought this time would be any different. He quickly caved and admitted,

“There were moments with Hermione when I felt like I could be the man I should have been. She made me feel strong again, and funny. She laughed at my jokes even when they were stupid.”

Draco stared out the window and considered the weight of that statement. She had made him stronger in small ways. Every time Hermione said he was “worth the wait,” Draco believed her. 

“You look like you have more to say.”

Draco looked up at Penelope and wondered how she always managed to prompt his thoughts in the most productive way.

“I was thinking about the first time I saw Hermione without clothes. I wasn’t comfortable enough to do the same, but she wanted to be as close to me as she could be. She was ready for me to see her in such an intimate way and I was stunned by it.”

“Why?”

Draco shrugged and admitted, “I always had a certain idea of what I believed was attractive. Gabrielle, Blaise, and Astoria have universal appeal. Hermione admitted she felt secondary to them, but she shouldn’t have. She carried more weight but it looked right on her, and she had great tits. Completely naked, she still held herself with the sort of confidence I envied. When I think about strong people, I think about her. I think about her being starkers right in front of me and still managing to look so fucking powerful. Knowing I damaged that in some way hurts more than anything else I did.”

“Yes, you said she looked different when you saw her all those weeks ago.”

“Thinner. She looked thinner.”

“Yet, you just said her weight was part of how she showed confidence in herself.”

“Now she’s lost some of it.”

“Just to ensure I am hearing you correctly, you believe losing weight can indicate someone is losing their strength?”

“Yes.”

Penelope raised a questioning eyebrow. Draco ran over the question again and realized he had walked into a trap.

“God _fucking_ damn it!”

Penelope chuckled as Draco ran a hand over his face.

“Therefore, to gain strength you have to eat food. By your own logic, someone like yourself who has spent so long losing weight and keeping it off cannot have the inner strength required to eat a full plate.”

“Then how can I possibly gain the strength back if I have to do the one thing I cannot seem to do?”

“You start slow.” Penelope lowered her voice to a gentler tone. “None of this is one-and-done, Draco, small steps are the only way. If you try to jump forward, you either fall on your face or your bum.”

“Romilda said something similar to me when this began.”

“Once you are on the other side of recovery, you look back and understand this is an agonizingly slow process. You must come to each of these realizations on your own. It does not matter how many times I tell you food is not the enemy. You are making it the enemy, and you had to come to that conclusion on your own. Perhaps instead of eating a whole plate, you work your way up to the croquetas.”

Draco shrugged.

“I will give it a go.”

“That is all you can do. Your conversation with Gabrielle went well, so did you speak with Blaise?”

“I did and we were very honest with each other. He and Hermione seem to be on the mend as well, which is both great and not great.”

“Why is it not?”

“Because she is more comfortable around him than she is me.”

“I would guess that is not your fault.”

Draco shrugged and stared down at Penelope’s desk.

She asked, “Isn’t there another conversation you need to have before you seek out Hermione?”

Draco’s stomach tied itself into a knot. God, the thought of seeing her again. He wasn’t nearly strong enough for that. When he didn’t answer, Penelope asked him directly,

“When do you plan to speak with Astoria?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“Of all your past relationships, that is the only one you cannot seem to make peace with.”

“I don’t know how to make peace with someone who said I would be better off dead.”

“You said the same thing when you first sat down in that chair this morning.”

_Fucking hell._

“How do you do that?” asked Draco. “You have this uncanny ability to make me feel like an idiot.”

“You are not an idiot. These moments are always waiting for you to see them, all I do is help to pull back the curtain. My point with Astoria is that she said something horrible, but all she was seeing is what you saw within yourself. If you make peace with it, if _you_ change, give her a chance and you might be surprised with what you find.” Penelope paused and amended, “But you also may not be surprised. People find eating disorders, particularly anorexia, difficult to understand. Not everyone will make the effort, and given her history of ignoring almost everything about you ...”

“Only the difficult bits,” offered Draco. “She never had a problem with the sex.”

“Even thinking about that moment with Astoria makes you tense. It took you weeks before you were willing to open up about it, and you remember every word she said to you with startling clarity. That conversation will not be like the others, and you need to prepare yourself for it. Do not rush into it.

“To be honest, Penelope, if I was going at my own pace then my hair would be falling out and I would still be living at the manor with my face in the toilet twice a day.”

“You can push _yourself_ forward in this, Draco, but you cannot push Astoria to accept you. Either she does or she doesn’t, and you have to live with the choice she makes.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“As for what you said at the beginning of today’s session, you have made progress. You will find the strength to keep moving forward. I know it feels like it takes everything you have, but the more you open yourself up to your friends and your family, the more rewarding recovery becomes.”

“I just want to be the version of myself that I know I can be. I don’t understand why I keep holding myself back.”

“You hold yourself back because moving forward means reliving the pain of what landed you here in the first place.”

**.oOo.**

**__** _Right foot._

_Left foot._

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

The run with Bastien was three times as long as it used to be. Draco could breathe a bit easier and did not work as hard to keep pace. It was a scorching morning in late June; beads of sweat pooled along Draco’s hairline and at the nape of his neck. Halfway through the run, Bastien said,

“I need to tell you something.”

“Go on, then.”

“Well, I haven’t really told anyone else yet, and I want to get your opinion.”

“Get on—” Draco paused to breathe then shouted in one rush of breath, “Getonwithit.”

“Padma proposed to me on Sunday.”

Draco immediately stopped and waited for Bastien to turn around a few paces ahead.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“No, mate, I’m serious. She got down on a knee and everything.”

Draco grinned and pulled Bastien into a hug, mumbling into his shoulder, “Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Bastien clung to Draco and admitted, “I couldn’t believe it. I was waiting for a good time and the right ring because she’s _Padma_. She is everything, she is perfect, and she is in love with me! _Me!_ Padma Patil is in love with me. D’you think it would be mad if I hyphenated my name so I could be Bastien Queensbury-Patil, or is it too obvious that I’ve melted into a puddle at her feet?”

Draco insisted, “Go for it.”

Bastien pulled back just a bit and said, “She wants a small ceremony, says she will leave the big one to Parvati. But she wants three bridesmaids, so I get three groomsmen and I want you to be one of them.”

“Bloody hell, are you serious?”

Bastien nodded.

“God, yes!” Draco couldn’t stop smiling. “I am so honored you want me there with you.”

“The way I see it, you’ve always tried to be there for me. Spent so many years working to put a smile on my face even when things went to shit. Now, you’re letting me be part of your recovery process. And I see it in you, mate, that cocoon is cracking and you will be a dick butterfly in no time at all.”

Draco turned away and began to run, but Bastien quickly found his way back to Draco’s side.

“I dunno about that.”

“The past few weeks have been especially good for you. I dunno what changed, what the hell Dean said on your birthday, but that man has got some kind of talent for mending broken people.”

“I saw the sort of man I could be and I want to get there.”

“What do you mean?”

“The sort of man who turns heads when he walks into a room.”

“Sorry to burst the bubble, but you’ve always done that.”

“Not for the right reasons. And I want to unbutton my shirts again. I stopped because you could see the bones,” he motioned to his chest, “here. I want to flirt with people again, just because I can. I want to make people laugh and I want to be the best fucking part of someone’s day. So I am eating food, running, and trying to ‘keep a positive outlook,’ as Penelope would say.”

“How is that going?”

“I would be completely lost without her.”

“I always thought she was gorgeous. Have you ever thought, maybe ...?”

Draco laughed.

“Yes, I have. She is lovely and brilliant, but I have told her things that I would never tell anyone else. It would never work because she sees me as a client and I see her as a confidant. Though, I suppose if I needed advice on dating a therapist I could always come to you.”

“True.” Bastien frowned. “But she’s not Hermione.”

“No, she is not.”

“Do you believe you will give that another go?”

“If Hermione will give our relationship a second chance, I will pour my entire soul out for her. My love for her will cast a looming shadow over whatever I could drudge up for another person. The truth is that I have watched Theo marry the love of his life and spend ten amazing years with her. I got to hand Blaise off to his husband in the most touching ceremony any of us will ever see. Gabriel and Romilda have already overcome an eating disorder in their relationship, and will get married next year. Now you’ve gone off and gotten engaged. I want to be happy for all of you, but there is part of me that will always say, _I want that._ I want what you have.”

“So go get it!” shouted Bastien. “Go get her! I guarantee the moment Hermione sees you again she will realize that she is capable of handling herself. Yeah, the two of you will have a lot of shit to work through, but you will work through it together. You only have to take that first step.”

Draco shook his head.

“There is something I have to do first.”

Bastien groaned, “You don’t have to talk to Astoria.”

“Yes, I do.”

“She’s an awful person who deserves to be shunned by all of us for the rest of time.”

“I need to make peace with it. If I don’t, I will carry her words with me until I die.”

“Or you could just, and I know this is a radical notion for you, _let it go._ ”

“And life would be so much better if I could ‘just eat food,’ right?”

Bastien rolled his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant. What I _meant_ was that you can’t keep letting other people dictate how you live your life.”

“Tell that to my parents.”

“You want me to?” asked Bastien. “You know I’ll say that shit to their faces. Your mum hasn’t even invited me to the manor since your fifteenth birthday.”

“That was one for the ages.”

“Astoria fucked you up so badly that you won’t even tell us what she said. To me, that screams someone who doesn’t give a fuck about what their words can do to you, and there is no indication that’s changed at all. Let her words go and you can let her go. Done. End of story. End of relationship.”

“The things she said to me are not the sort of things I can allow to stay in the past. They do not disappear. She said the only time I wasn’t lying to her was when we were having sex. My only value to her was sex, and it got worse from there.”

“Idea, then. Perhaps Astoria should go down on you while you’re discussing your feelings. Then you’re both comfortable.”

Draco laughed and pushed him to the side, but Bastien hardly stumbled. 

“You are ridiculous.”

“But I think you should reconsider talking to her, mate, I really do. I think she will do everything she can to ruin you a second time.”

“I disagree,” said Draco. “She is a kind-hearted person who made a mistake.”

“Astoria is kind to the people she thinks she should be polite to. _Dean_ is a kind-hearted person. Just because Dean is willing to help you in the recovery process does not mean Astoria is that same sort of person. If she said all that shit to you, then she’s horrible and you need to stay away.”

“How can you say that?” asked Draco. “How can you talk that way about Astoria, who was never cruel to me until the end and never actually hurt me? In the same breath you would tell me to welcome Hermione back into my life with open arms.”

“Because those two are not the same. Hermione was an accident, resulting from her own pain and how deeply she cared for you. Astoria meant to hurt you and succeeded far better than any of us ever could. Hermione is getting better. Astoria is bitter.”

“I know.”

“Then why the bloody hell would you tempt fate like that?”

“It feels like what I need to do.”

“That’s a shit answer.”

“It is the only one I’ve got.”

“Well, Padma wants to have the ceremony on Samhain, so don’t let Astoria kill your progress before then, alright?”

Draco insisted, “I am happy for you. Padma is a wonderful person, and if she is anything like Penelope then she does damn good work.”

“Padma thinks Penelope is amazing.”

“I feel like if it was anyone else, I wouldn’t be nearly this far along,” admitted Draco. “Without her I would definitely be dead by now.”

“Then I’d have to ask Blaise to be a groomsman, and you know how picky he is about his clothes.”

They both laughed and finished the run in silence. Bastien wiped his face off with the collar of his t-shirt and pulled Draco into another hug.

“One day, you are going to ask the love of your life to marry you. Then you’ll be asking me to be a groomsman and I’m going to say yes because I want you to feel as amazing as I feel right now.”

“You know there is only one person who could ever make me feel like that.”

“Yes, I do.” He pulled back and grinned. “I meant what I said, by the way. You look so much better now. If my broom flew in your direction ...”

Draco laughed and shoved him away.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious, mate. There’s something different about you now, especially in your face.” Bastien shrugged. “It’s a good different. I love seeing that in you.”

“Thank you,” replied Draco. He bent himself in half and tried to catch his breath. “I love seeing you happy.”

“One day, I will see you this happy. I know it.”

**.oOo.**

Draco stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He paid to replace the mirror above the sink shortly after the cuts on the back of his hand healed, but the full-body mirror hadn’t mattered much until his friends finally allowed him to close the door. 

What had Bastien seen?

_Something different._

Draco held the towel in one hand and shrugged. His shoulders were the same. His dick was the same. His ankles still had tiny indents from his socks, but on the face of it everything was the same. 

Draco turned to the side and frowned upon realizing he was wider, and not marginally. A new layer of fat coated his entire front. He moved his hand upward and trailed his fingers across his collarbone, which did not jut out as far as it used to. In fact, Draco could hardly see the bones in his chest. He turned to face the mirror full-on and ran a hand over his stomach. When the hell had that happened? 

_Croquetas._

While his upper half was different, the changes in his lower body were not quite so uncomfortable. All the running with Bastien had paid off; his thighs were firm, while there was hardly any muscle there before. His calves were stronger. Draco turned to the other side and smiled at himself. His arse had firmed up quite nicely, too. 

Astoria said he was little more than a walking corpse, but no Inferius had a bum that nice. Draco nodded to himself, promising to dismiss that criticism next time it crawled out of his memory.

After Draco pulled a t-shirt over his head, he stared at himself in the mirror above the sink; the same mirror that terrified him half a year earlier. Bastien had said the changes were, “Especially in your face.” At first glance, nothing there had changed. Draco was still just as pale as his father, with his father’s nose and his father’s sharp cheekbones and his father’s _everything._ Underneath it all, though, Draco thought he looked a bit softer. 

He nodded toward his reflection and wondered when it changed. Draco put his hair up in two lazy, messy buns on either side of his head. He would have to see Gabriel soon to fix up the ends a bit. Draco gripped either side of the sink and bent so his forehead rested against the cool surface of the mirror. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He told himself,

“You can be happy.” 

No, Penelope would say that’s not enough. He had to manifest it, make himself believe it. So Draco opened his eyes, looked at his reflection, and insisted,

“You are _going_ to be happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reunion you're waiting for should happen two chapters from now; Draco has to get through Astoria first. I'm gonna write a happy chapter eventually, darnit. We're gonna get there.


	44. Astoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco confronts Astoria about their time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on September 3rd & 4th, 2008.
> 
> TW: References to Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: References to Emotional Abuse  
> CW: References to Vague Sexual Acts

“I’m shaking.”

Draco wrapped his arms around himself and placed his head between his knees. He took a deep breath in, held it for several seconds, then exhaled as slowly as he could. Blaise gently placed his hand on Draco’s back and said,

“You do not have to do this.”

“I need answers.” Draco sat up and insisted, “I need closure.”

“She may not give it to you.”

Draco hopped off the bed and walked to his closet. He opened the doors and wondered if there was proper attire for confronting an ex-girlfriend.

“I want to look normal.”

Blaise frowned and said, “I do not know what that means.”

“It means I want her to look at me and see that I look different, but not in a ... in, well ...”

“May I say what you are thinking?”

Draco shook his head and said, “I don’t want you to.”

“Because you want to wear something that makes her look at you and forget you have had sex with men.” He bit down on his lip and amended, “Specifically, with me. You do not want her to remember that you had sex wtih me.”

“I don’t want it to be the first thing she remembers.” Draco admitted, “It was on her mind far more than it should have been when we were together, so I want to look nice. I want to wear something that makes her think, ‘Maybe I should have seen more in him.’”

“Your face will do that well enough.”

“Just tell me, the green robe or purple?”

Blaise walked over to the closet, grabbed a lilac button-down and threw a pair of black jeans at Draco. He laid the shirt on the bed and placed his hands on his hips.

“Why was she so focused on me? We were friends before all this.”

“Do you want the truth?”

Blaise nodded.

“Some part of me was always comparing her to you, because you loved me. She loved me, but the two of you felt so different and I did not understand why until the end. You never tried to change me, you let me be _me._ Even if there was less of me. Astoria always wanted more of me when there was none to give. All she knew was that I looked at you a certain way when we were dating and I never looked at her like that.”

“You deserved more from her. I am grateful she showed her true self, because I know none of my friends would ever think of you as a prize to be won or see a man who needs to be changed. No matter what she says to you, Draco, know that our family sees you for who you truly are. Her opinion matters to you, but that does not make it the truth.”

“I know.” Draco unbuttoned his pyjama shirt and tossed it on the bed. “I am so nervous, but I know I will eventually be worthy of someone’s love.”

“You are worthy _now_.” Blaise raised his eyebrows and gave Draco the once-over. “You look amazing.”

Draco glanced down and said, “I am in pyjama bottoms.”

“I meant,” Blaise motioned to his chest, “here.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“The plate tactic, does it seem to be working?”

“A bit. It is still hard for me, but something about the full plate is pushing me forward.”

“I am glad. You know I will do anything I can to help you.”

“Right now, I just need you to help me pick a pair of shoes.”

**.oOo.**

Draco had pulled his hair into a French twist and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He looked good, but he was as anxious as he had ever been. His stomach was tied in knots and his hands continued to tremble. He looked around the porch and saw that nothing had changed. It was exactly the same as it had always been, all those nights he and Astoria had half-dragged each other up the steps and nearly fell through the door. Their clothes began to come off somewhere around the entryway and would leave a trail to Astoria’s bedroom, but those moments were best left to the past. They were good memories, the moments that anchored their otherwise-rocky relationship.

Draco knocked on Astoria’s door just past three, and his heart nearly stopped when she opened it. Part of him had hoped she forgot, that she would not be home. But no, he looked down into those green eyes that were so kind to him once. She wore a high-collared, sheer black dress that came in at the waist, overtop of a short slip.

She always knew how to tempt him into looking. How to throw him right back into the good moments they shared. Astoria frowned and nodded for him to come in.

“Let’s get this over with.”

So it would be that sort of conversation. Draco followed her inside and closed the door behind him. He ran his fingers along the door and remembered the last time he was there.

_Almost normal._

“We can do it in here.”

Draco laughed low in his throat. Not generally what she meant when she said those words. He made his way into the sitting room and took his place in the armchair across from her. He laced his fingers together, looked her in the eyes, and said,

“You look lovely.”

She shrugged and admitted, “I wanted you to have a good look at what you lost.”

“Accomplished.”

There was a long pause between them before Astoria broke the silence wide open.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you here?”

“Honestly?”

“Why bother?” Astoria tucked some hair behind her ear. She quipped, “You lied throughout the entirety of our relationship, why stop now?”

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Astoria was still hurting and he couldn’t begrudge her that. He opened his eyes and answered,

“When we broke up, you said things that ...” Draco swallowed thickly and looked down at the ground. “They hurt me.”

“I know.”

“Did you mean them?”

“Yes.”

That hit Draco like a blow to the temple. He closed his hands into fists to hide the shaking.

“I understood most of what you said. I was deathly thin and kept my illness secret from you, that is true. But you looked at me and told me I didn’t deserve to live.” Draco rubbed anxiously at his neck and asked, “How could you say that to me?”

Astoria shrugged.

“I was angry and I wanted you out of my life. At that moment, I wanted you dead. I wanted you gone, I hated you, and I felt so used—”

“ _You_ felt used?!’ shouted Draco. “You spent our entire relationship trying to change me! Trying to make me more like my father, trying to make me _straight_.”

“Can you blame me?” asked Astoria. “Not only did I have to compete with other women for your affection, I had to compete with men as well. I had to compete with your best friend! It was always me chasing your attentions and when I ended it, it was because you weren’t worth it. There was no winning with you.”

Draco nodded.

She added, “Not that I would say the same things now. I apologize for saying you did not deserve to live. That was selfish of me, and wrong.”

“You have no idea how close I was to giving you exactly what you wanted.”

Astoria looked away and admitted, “I know exactly how close you were back then. I wasn’t enough to pull you out of it, and I knew that. So I went to your friends, begged them to help me show you that you could be so much more than you believed you could be. Theo calls himself your brother, but I don’t see that at all because he was caught completely off-guard. Daphne never cared much for you, so she was no help. Pansy slapped me when I told her, because I had somehow ruined your friendship and I was ‘ruining you.’ Perhaps she was right.”

“Even if you were, it was my fault for letting you.”

“They didn’t want to help me, even though I was trying to get them to help you. If Blaise had understood, he would have helped, but I could not go to him. I was so jealous of his relationship to you.”

“I never noticed at first, until I realized we always had sex after I saw Blaise. It was rougher, too, like you were trying to get me to focus on you and only you. I liked it, though. I liked when you hurt me because I deserved it. I wanted you to punish me for not being enough of a person, but then you tried to get me to spend less time with Blaise. Then you tried to get me to dress differently, you hated how I did my hair, you wanted to control my life and that was why you moved into the manor.”

“You have it wrong.”

“How?”

“I hated that you never asked to play with my hair.” Astoria waved her hand around and said, “I know it sounds stupid, but you always styled Gabrielle’s hair when you visited her. You told me about how you played with Blaise’s hair when it was long. You never did that with me.”

“I—”

“You wore robes that showed how thin you were. That was why I wanted you to change, not because I hated them. God, you were so fragile and I couldn’t _fix_ you.”

“Then why did you stay?” Draco’s voice cracked but he asked again, “Why would you put us through that if you knew it would end?”

“I loved you.”

“Fuck that, give me an honest answer!”

“You want honesty?!”

“Yes!”

“I did it because I wanted you!” Astoria’s solid veneer had begun to crack. “You were always so lively and vibrant and the sort of person any woman would want to spend her life with. But when I entered your life, all of that was gone. I wanted to bring it back, to make you want to be the person you were. I wanted that for you and I didn’t know how to do it. I tried everything I could and none of it worked. You were unfixable.”

Draco asked, “Do you still believe that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because no matter how much weight you gain, no matter how many friends you have, some part of you will always wonder _why_ anyone would love you. That is the truth of all this, that you have been searching for a reason to love yourself and came up empty. So if you can’t love yourself, how the bloody hell do you expect anyone else to do it?”

Draco felt water begin to pool in the corners of his eyes and shame began to creep up from his stomach. He had always been weak in these moments.

“I have this thing in my mind,” he said, “a voice that tells me how much I don’t deserve what I want.”

“That is what holds you back.”

“Yes,” Draco nodded, “and it’s your voice.”

Astoria laughed. She smoothed out the skirt of her dress then tossed her hands in the air.

“You love to make me the villain.”

Draco quipped, “You did a pretty decent job of that yourself. I think you calling me a walking corpse made you a villain.”

“You were ill!”

“I am still ill, Astoria! That is the point of this! I cannot get any better unless I understand why you said the things you did.”

“I told you why.”

“I fell in love, you know.” Draco admitted, “I told Hermione I loved her. I never said it to anyone before, because I never believed there was enough of me left to love anyone.”

“There isn’t.”

“There _wasn’t._ ”

Astoria insisted, “Nothing about you has changed. You eat food and that is wonderful. You can live a life that does not involve you running to the loo after every meal, but that does not mean anything about _you_ at your core has changed. You eat now, but do you like it?”

“Sorry?”

“Do you enjoy food?”

“No, but I eat it.”

“Do you like what you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I am learning to accept—”

“Exactly.” Astoria snapped, “Nothing inside of you has changed, and the cycle will continue for the rest of your life. That is the mistake I made, Draco, thinking anything inside of you could change.”

“It has!” Draco shouted back. “I have changed. I have gotten better. My only problem is that every time I take a step forward, your voice is there in my head saying I am ‘hoping for a future that can never happen.’ After Hermione told me she loved me, I said it back. I was so happy in that moment, until your voice came back to me. ‘No one will ever marry you like this.’ And then, ‘No one will ever love you like this.’ So I questioned how Hermione could love me, questioned how her friends could accept me ...”

“Did they?”

“No, but—”

“Because the mistakes you made are not the sort that can be erased.”

“No,” Draco stood up, “but they are the sort that can be forgiven. I hoped you would be able to forgive me for making you feel like I wasted our time together, but I see that was a mistake.”

Astoria leaned against one side of the chair and looked up at Draco to say, “Our relationship was a mistake.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I don’t remember being this sort of person before dating you.”

“I do not believe you were and I take responsibility for your bitterness. If I had been honest with you at the beginning, or even toward the middle, I like to believe you would have tried to help me.”

“I would have done everything I could, but you never gave me that chance.”

“And that is on me, but what you said at the end nearly ruined me. The truth is that Hermione hurt me, but the reason I nearly killed myself was that you implied I should.”

Astoria winced and said, “I never wanted that for you. I wanted you to be better, but I knew you were going to die and I couldn’t watch you. I blamed you for it.”

“Your feelings are no longer of any concern to me.” Draco paused to consider his words. “If I intend to move on, then I have to let you go, don’t I?”

“Draco, I have been trying to let go of you for almost two years. I remember who you were once, and fell in love with him. Part of me is not ready to give up on that.”

“You see me for who I was, but Hermione sees me for who I can be. That is why I love her and why I am going to prove you wrong. I will get better and I will do it without you.”

“I hope you do.”

Draco nodded. He believed her.

“But Draco?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want you in my life.”

“Fine,” he spat. “Then I won’t be there.”

**.oOo.**

Draco spent the next day at Theo’s house. Tracey was busy with business, but gave him a brief overview of everything. Gwendoline was nearly finished with the renovations on Malfoy Manor, and Draco was excited to see it completed.

But he wasn’t there for business.

He wasn’t there for Tracey.

“UNCLE DRACO!”

“UNCLE DRACO’S HERE!”

He grinned and knelt to grab both Scarlett and Sebastien in a tight hug. He kissed the top of each of their heads and said,

“It’s my two favourite people in the world! How are you?”

Scarlett said, “Good.”

“We have something to show you!”

“Oh?” asked Draco. He looked up at Tracey and saw her grinning from ear-to-ear. “What?”

“The twins did this all on their own.”

“Well, show me, then!”

Scarlett and Sebastien led Draco into their bedroom and instructed him to sit on the floor in front of their beds. Scarlett grabbed a stack of parchment and Sebastien stood about a metre in front of Draco like he was about to give a lecture.

“This presentation is called ‘The Birthday Present.’”

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “Whose birthday present?”

“We’re going to tell you,” said Scarlett, “so _shhh._ ”

Draco laughed and held his hands up in a sign of acquiescence.

“You have my undivided attention.”

Sebastien took a deep breath and said, “‘The Birthday Present,’ by Scarlett and Sebastien Nott.” He held out his hand and Scarlett handed him the first piece of parchment. He held it up to reveal a drawing of four smiling people, clearly drawn by Scarlett. The two smaller ones were the twins, while Draco saw himself as one of the adults. The other adult was significantly shorter than him, with big eyes and puffy hair. “Thursdays used to look like this.”

Scarlett pointed to the figure and said, “That’s Hermione.”

Draco’s smile vanished.

“We were happy.” Sebastien placed the parchment on the floor and held out his hand so Scarlett could hand him the next one. It was a drawing of the Hermione figure with a huge grin on her face. “This was Hermione when she was with you.”

Sebastien put that parchment down and Scarlett handed him the next sheet. It was the same picture, but instead of grinning Hermione frowned.

“This is Hermione now that you’re gone.”

Draco knew that much to be true. He was sad without her, too. Sebastien placed that parchment on top of the others and Scarlett handed him the next one, which read “SEPTEMBER 4TH.”

“This is today.”

“I had to ask Seb how to spell September, but we did it right!” Scarlett grinned as she handed Sebastien the next piece of parchment. “Two times!”

Sebastien held up the piece of parchment that read “SEPTEMBER 19TH - HERMYNEE’S BIRTHDAY.”

“This is Hermione’s birthday.”

“Yes,” Draco affirmed, “I can see that.”

Sebastien held up the next sheet, which showed several small figures around a table with a cake and balloons.

“Hermione is having a party, but mum says you’re not invited.”

“We asked Hermione to invite you,” Scarlett said, “but she said she was scared ‘cause she hurt you. She doesn’t want to make you sad again.”

Theo wasn’t lying; even the twins had noticed the change in her. Draco wiped away some tears. All he wanted was for Hermione to be happy.

“Then _I_ had an idea!” Sebastien placed that sheet down and accepted the next one from Scarlett. “Everybody likes presents!” He showed Draco a drawing of several boxes with bows on them. “But me and Scar don’t have money to get Hermione a present.”

Scarlett looked down at the floor and admitted, “I spent my Knuts on a Chocolate Frog. I was gonna give it to Hermione but then I ate it.”

“I wanted to get her a book, but father said it was too expensive ‘cause I only had five Knuts.”

“We needed something that doesn’t take money.”

“Then I thought there is something Hermione likes that is free!” Sebastien held his hand out to accept the next piece of parchment from Scarlett. He held it up and Draco laughed through his tears.

On the parchment, Scarlett had drawn Draco in the centre of a mass of gift boxes with a bow stuck to his chest. He doubled-over and laughed harder than he had in days. After all the hell that was Astoria Greengrass, it was nice to see he was still wanted. That he was still loved, especially by the two people he cared for more than anyone else on the planet.

Scarlett shouted, “We want to give her you!”

“Father said he would plan it with mum!” Sebastien added. “They already got her a present, but I think ours is better.”

He placed that parchment on the floor with the others and held up another drawing that had Draco sniffling. It was him and Hermione hugging, with a bow wrapped around the two of them. God, he wanted that so badly.

“I asked Scar if she could draw you snogging Hermione, but she said no.”

Scarlett shrugged and said, “I can’t do kisses yet. Mouths are weird.”

“But we miss you together.”

“You made her smile. She made you smile. Now you’re both sad because you’re not together.”

Draco wiped some of the snot from underneath his nose. He pulled Scarlett and Sebastien into another hug but they tried to push him away.

“No!”

“NO!” Scarlett shouted. “There’s one more!” She pushed him away and grabbed the last sheet of parchment.”

The twins stood back and each held one side of the paper which read “THE END.” In unison, they asked,

“Will you be our birthday present?”

“Yeah,” Draco nodded and started crying again. “Yeah, I’ll do it, you two are so convincing, you know that?” He pulled them into another hug and they all toppled onto the floor. “You are the best. Do you really think Hermione wants to see me?”

Sebastien revealed, “Mum says it’s time for you to see each other again.”

“And Hermione always looks happy when we talk about you,” Scarlett added.

“Oh?” asked Draco. “What do you say?”

“She always asks if you’re happy.” Sebastien shrugged and said, “We don’t know. You don’ look sad, but you don’ look happy.”

Tracey cornered him a few hours later to ask, “What did you decide?”

“What can I say? Your children are very convincing.”

“They get that from me. If Sebastien wasn’t so set on being a magizoologist, I’d insist he should be a lawyer. They plotted it all out so Scarlett knew what to draw and everything. The only thing they asked was how to spell Hermione. Then Sebastien forgot on his way back to tell Scarlett, so they got as close as they could. They’ve been practicing this for days.”

“It was adorable.”

“Blaise told me you went to see Astoria yesterday.” Tracey scrunched her nose and asked, “How was that?”

“It’s done.”

“Ooh, that bad?”

Draco nodded.

“Well, you always have a place in our family. You may not be Theo’s brother by blood, but I know the two of you consider each other to be as such. That is the only reason he was compelled to help Hermione, you know, because he knew how much she meant to you. He felt like he hadn’t done enough to help you during your recovery, and he knew Potter and Weasley would fall into the same trap. He stepped up and I am proud of him, even if I didn’t understand at first.”

“I know, Trace. I can’t thank you enough for putting your career on hold to handle my estate. It means everything to me.”

“It’s nothing. One year to help you live the rest of your life? That’s not a sacrifice, that’s a blessing.”

“You are the only person I trusted to do this.”

“And you were right to. But are you ready to see Hermione again?” asked Tracey. “I know she does not believe she is ready to see you, but she is. Hermione doubts herself now in a way she didn’t before, and I think you can help her see she doesn’t need to do that.”

Draco wondered, “Is this a good idea? Should we warn her before I show up?”

“No. Don’t give her any time to agonize about it. She’s going to see you and you will see her, and then you’ll kiss and start nannying my kids together again.”

Draco admitted, “I miss her so much.”

“I miss how happy you were with her. I think if you help each other heal from this, you will be even stronger together.”

“Thanks, Trace. So ... I’ll be back here on the 19th?”

“September 19th at 9:57. Don’t be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astoria has quite the knack for being so brutal in such few words. Did you enjoy the Wizarding version of a PowerPoint presentation? ❤️ I hope you all are happy and healthy.


	45. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco surprises Hermione at her 29th birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunited and it feels so good! This chapter is a long one, so prepare for that.
> 
> TW: References to Physical Abuse  
> TW: References to Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: References to Drug Abuse

“Big day tomorrow.”

Draco plopped into the chair at Weeoanwhisker’s and groaned.

“Of everyone going to the party tomorrow, who doesn’t know that I will be the grand finale?”

“Nearly everyone, I expect.” Gabriel placed the styling cape over Draco and fastened it at the back of his neck. “Except Alicia Weasley, but that’s because she’s still ... Well. The opinion of her varies based on which Weasley you are speaking to.”

“What does Bill think of her?”

“I don’t like to speak for my friends, but my best guess is he would say she played a far greater role in the troubles between Ron and Hermione than she owned up to.” Gabriel ran his hands through Draco’s hair and grinned. “It’s getting so long again! I remember all those months ago when you first came to me ...”

Draco grimaced.

“I missed having longer hair, but it was nice to look less like my father.”

“And now?”

“Now I think I look more like myself.”

“Love to hear that. So what am I doing to it?”

“Fix it up at the bottom and I need it tapered, just a bit shorter in the front then it works its way longer toward the back.”

“Got it.”

He sprayed Draco’s hair and began to work in silence. He frowned a bit. Or, perhaps it wasn’t a frown so much as he had hardly ever seen Gabriel without a smile. 

Draco observed, “You took out the nose ring.”

Gabriel grumbled low in his throat and scrunched up his nose.

“Yeah, I did.”

There was an awkward pause before Draco asked, “Would you prefer not to discuss it?”

“Not much to discuss. Romi’s mum said she doesn’t want me to look like a ‘hooligan’ in the wedding photos. I am only doing this for Romi, you know. That night I told you about, the night when I pulled a handful of hair out of her head? That one? I had the ring in my pocket. I was gonna ask her to marry me six months in.”

“Wow.” Draco admitted, “I had no idea.”

“Neither does she, so don’t tell her.”

“You have been ready for this for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel sighed as he began to section off Draco’s hair. “But it’s not fair to Romi, you know? The builmia held us back for so long, but it was probably for the best. I have nine years on her and she needed to work out a bit more of who she was as a person. I was thirty on our first date, she was twenty-one, and it made me feel like she was too young in some ways because there’s so much life I had lived while she was still ... Still figuring things out. We got to grow as people together, and I was there to help her through the toughest challenge of her life.”

“But ...?”

“But I am _so fucking ready_ to marry her. I proposed to her on Christmas Eve and I wanted to get married on New Year’s. I have no need for much ceremony, but I want Romi to know how special she is to me, so I agreed to do this. That means the facial piercings had to go.” Gabriel paused and turned to the side so Draco could see the side of his head in the mirror. “Do you see that? All six had to go.”

“Can’t you just take them out on the day?”

“Oh, you would think, wouldn’t you? But no, the mums are insistent we present ourselves as respectable people at all the appointments. Cake tasting, registering at the department stores, all the nonsense I could not give less of a fuck for. Romi wanted me to keep them, but I didn’t want to cause a fuss with her mum, who hates me. Romi’s got a younger sister so it’s not like this is her only shot at planning a wedding.” He scoffed, “‘ _Respectable_ people.’ If she knew the things Romi has done to me in our bed, I doubt she would consider either of us respectable.”

Draco laughed.

“But I miss looking like myself, you know?” Gabriel quickly added, “You would know better than anybody. I wouldn’t have the piercings if I didn’t want them.”

“I know.” Draco sighed heavily and admitted, “I don’t know what Hermione will think when she sees me. It has been nine months since we’ve truly seen each other and I have ... Well, I have changed a bit physically. And my hair’s longer.”

“You’ve stayed out of the _Prophet_ for the most part, too.”

“I have been holed up at Blaise’s for so long, I forget to go out most days unless someone takes me.”

“For what it’s worth, I think tomorrow you and Hermione will end up in each other’s arms, exactly where you are supposed to be.”

**.oOo.**

5:00.

Only five hours before Draco would see Hermione again. He stared at himself in the mirror and began to braid his hair. Leaving it down made him feel like his father and that was the very last person he wanted Hermione to see in him. The braided crown was easy; he had done it for Gabrielle more times than he could count. It would keep his hair away from his face and it would not be a focus the way it had been with Astoria.

After all, Hermione was the final step as he attempted to make peace with his past relationships. Whether he liked it or not, Hermione was in the past and Draco needed to deal with it. Only then could they figure out whether she was in his future, or if there was space for Draco in hers.

Blaise was sitting on the end of Draco’s bed when he finally walked out. 

“Figured I would spare you the ten minutes of staring into the closet before you asked for my opinion.”

“Probably a good idea. What are your thoughts?”

“I am glad you asked!” Blaise leapt up from the bed and grabbed everything from Draco’s closet as if he had been considering it for awhile. “You will Apparate into the backyard, so you need to be warm. Black jeans, black turtleneck, and this coat.” Blaise laid the grey suede coat on the bed and smiled at it. “I like this one.”

“As I recall,” Draco said, “you stole that from me when we broke up.”

“It is lined with the _softest_ wool I have ever touched. I am giving it back because you need it.”

“You don’t think it’s too ... simple?”

“Not at all. I think this is the best way for Hermione to focus on how much different you look, compared to this time last year.”

“I am not sure I like the difference.”

“Everyone else does.” Blaise patted Draco on the shoulder and said, “You look happier. Healthier. Not perhaps where we all would like you to be, but you are certainly on your way there.”

“If I ask you a question, do you promise to answer it honestly?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe Hermione will be happy to see me?”

“No.” Blaise made his way over to Draco’s shoe rack and eyed each pair individually. He took awhile, like the shoes were the most important part of the outfit. “I think she has a specific idea of how her apology to you will go. Tonight is not the night she planned, and it will be strange for her to shift her plans. She has given it a lot of thought.”

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Yes.”

When Blaise did not add anything to that statement, Draco asked, “Would you like to elaborate?”

“No.” Blaise Summoned a pair of black leather penny loafers. “These.”

Draco frowned and said, “I will look like one of the waitstaff at your restaurants.”

“The _coat_ , Draco, the coat changes everything; and your hair. It looks very nice when it is up like that.”

“Do you not like the other ways I wear it?”

“Of course I do. I only mean to say it looks appropriate for this occasion, so Hermione can see your face.”

“Bastien says the same thing to me. The biggest difference is in my face, but I do not see much of a change.”

“You should know by now that what you see in the mirror is not what is truly there.” Blaise placed the shoes on the floor at Draco’s feet and sat next to him on the bed. “You do not need to do this if you are not ready.”

“Strangely enough, I am ready to see her again. I am worried about her reaction, of course, but I would rather do this now than continue to wait for a proper moment.”

“All of us will support what you decide to do.”

Draco nodded and stared into the closet. There were so many questions about the hours ahead, but he would receive no answers until nine o’clock.

Blaise asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Whether Hermione and I can ever be what we were.”

“I think you have spent this time apart healing so that you will be more than what you were.”

Draco bumped Blaise’s shoulder with his own and smiled.

“I hope you’re right.”

**.oOo.**

Draco Apparated into the backyard with Tracey at 9:59. She pressed a finger to her lips and Disapparated. He looked around the small garden and determined the best word for it was “ordinary.” Everything he could see was completely unremarkable. Even the house was nondescript. It was perfectly suited to the sort of Muggle neighborhood Draco presumed it to be from what he could see of the neighboring houses; normal and dull. The sort of place that would suffocate Hermione, given enough time. 

Three steps led up to a small porch in front of the back door. There were two plain white chairs, one on either side of the stairs. Draco took the steps two at a time and wiped his hands off on his trousers.

What if she wasn’t ready to see him? 

Worse, what if she didn’t want to see him?

Tracey said he wasn’t meant to go in. Should he knock? Draco stared at the door, frozen for several seconds before he turned and walked back down the stairs. He paced the length of the garden several times over the next few minutes before he heard the rapid-fire cracking of Disapparition from inside, as if everyone was leaving. Draco was relieved because did not want an audience for this moment. Seconds later, Theo’s voice filtered through the door.

“Scarlett and Sebastien left you a present. It’s in the back.”

There was a moment’s pause before Hermione asked, “Outside?”

“We saved it for last because they outdid the rest of us.”

“I do need a new bookshelf.”

Draco heard Theo laugh.

“It’s a bit better than that.”

Theo Disapparated and it seemed like ages before Draco saw Hermione silhouetted in the door’s window. Every worry he had, every fear was drowned out by the realization they were only seconds from seeing each other again. The doorknob turned, the door opened, and he was slingshot back to the single best moment of his life:

_You introduced me to every part of your life, and I want to make you part of mine because I love you._

_I want my friends to see how much I love you._

_I love you._

Hermione wore a dark blue sweater dress that hit below her knees and clung to every curve. She looked even smaller than Draco remembered and had pulled her hair into a simple, sleek bun at the back of her head. It was disconcerting, to say the least. She had even done her makeup, and it was strange for her to consider that something of importance. Regardless of how different she looked, it changed nothing about how she made Draco’s heart stutter to a near-stop.

Hermione caught sight of him and stopped stone-still, hand clutching the doorknob. Draco’s entire body froze for a moment and the distance between them was heavy with heartache. 

Neither of them moved. 

Could he walk closer, or would that frighten her off? Draco watched a dozen emotions cloud her face before it settled into a blank, neutral mask. One of them should say something—

“Hi.”

Draco could have kicked himself. Nine months apart and he walked back into her life with, “Hi.” Hermione opened her mouth like she was ready to say something, but nothing came. He offered,

“Happy birthday! The twins couldn’t afford a real present, so you get me.” He turned around so she could see one bow stuck to each of the pockets on his bum. “They got me where they could reach.”

Hermione’s lips ticked up in the slightest hint of a smile. She let go of the doorknob and waved her hand so the door shut behind her. Draco grinned as the tension began to leave his shoulders. There was a large part of him that expected her to end up on the other side of that door. He turned to face her full-on and Hermione took a tentative step toward him.

“May I tell you something?”

Hermione nodded and took the first step down. Draco walked a bit closer and said,

“I went on a date a few months back. He was a great bloke, a kind person, and a good shag. The only problem was that five minutes after meeting me he knew my heart was elsewhere.”

Hermione took the second step and looked at Draco with tears in her eyes, not sure what to do. Unsure where this conversation was heading, she looked like she expected to be lectured, or to be admonished. Draco took another step toward her just as Hermione landed on the final step.

“When you hurt me, everything that ever went wrong in my life came rolling back; a storm that came out of nowhere. Nonstop thunder rolling overhead, raindrops the size of Knuts, the sort when you stare out the window and wonder how the sun could ever hope to shine through again. But through all of it, there was never a moment I didn’t love you. My heart is yours, Hermione Granger.”

She didn’t move, just stood there with her hands balled into fists and a look of mild terror on her face. Whatever Draco hoped would happen, this was not it.

“Would you just ... Will you say something, please? _Anything._ ”

Hermione croaked out, “I’m sorry.” She wiped tears from her cheeks and said, “I am sorry I hit you. I am sorry that I broke your trust and I am so, so sorry that you are in love with me.”

“Don’t say that.” Draco shook his head and asked, “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because you deserve better than who I am. It’s not enough for you.” She dabbed at her eyes with the tips of her fingers, careful not to smudge too much of her makeup. “I knew that one day you would break apart and I wanted to be the one to pick up the pieces. Instead of holding you through it, I am the one who broke you. You were on _suicide watch_ because of me, because I couldn’t control my anger. I don’t know how to trust myself around you anymore.”

“Hermione, I never told anyone I loved them until you.” Draco used his thumb to wipe a tear pooling beneath her eye. “I said I loved you because I was certain of it.”

“How could you be so sure?”

“The same way I know you won’t hurt me right now.” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around Hermione’s waist and kiss the top of her head. “You can learn to do anything, and you have spent all this time learning not to hurt me.”

Hermione went limp in his arms and pressed her cheek against his chest. She clutched at the sides of his shirt beneath his coat and Draco held her tighter.

“You look stronger now.”

“Loads of therapy and Blaise’s croquetas.”

Hermione laughed and said, “I’ve been so sad without you. And afraid. Afraid of myself, afraid of what I had done to you ...”

“I promise, Hermione, when I wanted to kill myself it was not your voice in my head.”

“But you were going to do it.”

“Yes,” admitted Draco, “I was.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I realized there was more to life than what I had been allowed to feel.” He rested his forehead against Hermione’s and said, “Waking up with you in my arms was the closest I have felt to happiness in ten goddamn years and I would give anything to feel that again. To be honestly happy.”

Hermione stepped away and balled up the palms of her sleeves in her palms.

“So if I hurt you again, you will end up right back where you started.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am moving forward, Hermione, and I won’t let anyone push me back. Not Astoria, not my parents, and not even you.”

“But if I hurt you again—”

“Why do you believe that you will?” 

“Because I did it once!” Hermione shouted back. She wiped away more angry tears and insisted, “It happened over and over again with Ronald for _years._ I wasn’t brave enough to leave him and I wasn’t strong enough to stop.”

“You have carried so many people and so much responsibility for so long ... Yes, you made a mistake and I paid for it. Those months when I wanted to die, I had my friends there to take the broken pieces of me and put them back together. You did not have that, and you didn’t have me.” Draco took her hand and twined their fingers together. “Still, you took all the pieces of yourself and have begun to build something better, something even more amazing than the powerful woman you already were. You carry people, Hermione Granger, and I am here so you won’t have to carry yourself through this alone.”

Hermione gave him a watery smile in reply.

“You’re too good with words, you know?”

“Maybe.” Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Or maybe it is just easier around you.”

“And why would that be?”

“There is so much that happens around us: families, friends, anorexia, _The Daily fucking Prophet_ ...” Draco sat on the second step and leaned back on his elbows. “When you hit me—”

“I am so—”

“I swear to God, Hermione, if you say you are sorry I will walk out of your life right now. That word means nothing to me anymore. Astoria is sorry, my parents are sorry, Blaise is _so fucking sorry_! What the hell can I do with that?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione shook her head and repeated, “I don’t know how to react when you say it. When you say what I did.”

“You hurt me, and so did they. I just wish everyone would stop saying how sorry they are. It is done, it is over, the word is nothing to me.”

“I ...” Hermione licked her lips and admitted, “I thought about it. I thought about this every day once I began seeing Parvati. I want you as part of my life, so how can I apologize to you in a way that makes you understand how truly s—”

Draco pursed his lips into a half-frown and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I want to ask for your forgiveness in a way that shows you how much I want it.” She stuffed both fists beneath her arms and added, “If you’ll allow me.”

“Go on, then.”

“You’ll need to come inside,” she said. Hermione stepped by him and up the steps to open the door. “My parents have gone on holiday for a few days for my birthday. It is the first time I have been alone since moving in with them.”

“I am sure it was not easy, being cloistered in here.”

“It is preferable to the alternative.”

Draco closed the door and surveyed the surroundings as he asked, “How is that?”

The house was simple, but nice. There was nothing extravagant, but the hallways were wide and the floorplan was open. It was not dissimilar to what he hoped to accomplish at the manor, albeit on a far grander scale. Hermione led him through the kitchen and into the dining room, an eight-seat glass table sitting in the middle.

“When I was alone, I replayed our argument over and over in my head. I tried to justify it every way I could, but nothing came. It continued on a loop until I started to drown myself in Calming Drought. I thought that was a good enough plan until Theo caught me downing half a bottle in the kitchen one afternoon.” Hermione winced. “The twins had asked where you were, and ... I didn’t have an answer for them.”

Draco wanted to hug her, wanted to promise she would never need to look for an answer to that question ever again.

“It was his idea,” she said. “He told me you moved in with Blaise and Dean and it seemed to be helping you those first couple weeks.”

“I moved in because they had me on suicide watch and it was easier.”

Hermione glanced down at the floor and said, “He left that part out.”

“My guess is that he believed that was not his information to share.”

“I am glad he didn’t. I moved in and my mum gave me a very hard lecture because to them, it meant Ron wasn’t a one-off. It’s a pattern with me. My life fell into a manageable routine of work, therapy, and whichever friend decided to come over and pretend everything was okay.”

“And the twins?”

“The best part of every week.” Hermione admitted, “When I was with them, that was when I felt closest to you. To the life we could have had. But I tried to focus on _me_ , on fixing myself because I was not even brave enough to ask for help.”

“It is one of the most difficult things to learn,” said Draco. “I was fine destroying my body inside, and only once it was affecting my hair did I actually reach out for help because I had lost control of it.”

“Your hair looks nice.”

“Yours looks ...” Draco tried to think of a word that was both kind and honest. “... different?”

Hermione frowned. Draco realized rather belatedly that insulting her effort was not the best move. While he continued to curse himself internally, she dismissed the criticism and moved on.

“I ration the Calming Draught and I need it less now. That has been my biggest progress through all this. Padma says it’s ‘emotional intelligence,’ which sounds like some skrewtshit a therapist would say. But she is my therapist and she said it, so I am okay being proud of it.”

“At least you get to be intelligent.” Draco laughed. “Penelope is still at the ‘Draco, it is okay to experience emotions’ stage.”

Hermione pulled out a chair and faced it toward Draco.

“Sit.”

He pulled the bows off his bum and obliged her. Draco let his legs fall open a bit and teased,

“I think I like where this is going.”

Then Hermione left. 

He was left alone in her parents’ house. Her Muggle parents’ house. A faint buzzing emanated from everywhere, making silence all but impossible. Draco leaned backward and stared up at the strange hexagonal paneling on the ceiling. He heard water running in the kitchen area and closed his eyes, concentrating on that soothing sound. Being near Hermione again was the best sort of difficult, but difficult nonetheless. 

He would forgive her. There was never any doubt in Draco’s mind if she asked for his forgiveness that he would give it to her. After all, she had forgiven him for so much shit it would hardly be fair to keep that from her. He ran his palms up and down his thighs, stretching out his fingers, wondering what she had planned. Hermione kept surprising him.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight, so I am making do with what I have on hand.”

Draco tilted his head to look at her, then leapt up from the chair like it burned. Hermione carried a large stock pot and a towel rested on her left shoulder. She had removed her shoes and her fingers trembled a bit on the handles.

Draco took a step back and asked, “What the hell do you plan to do with that?”

“It took awhile, but I finally figured ...” She shook her head and sat the pot, filled with water, down in front of the chair and smoothed out the front of her dress. “Sorry, that is rather heavy.” She shifted on her feet then admitted, “I figured my apology should be at the same magnitude as my mistake.”

Draco’s eyes went wide as he realized she fully intended to go through with this.

“This is not the sort of thing you do for an apology. This is ... it’s ... it’s for a _marriage_ , Hermione. This is a ceremony for an audience, not—”

“Call them back, then!” she shouted. “Every one of them, you can summon whomever you want and I will do this in front of them. However large an audience you need, get them, but I only require an audience of one.”

Draco clenched his jaw and locked his gaze on Hermione. 

She didn’t back down, just stood there, staring back. 

Draco blinked first.

“I never believed I would get to do this.” He nodded to the chair and insisted, “I cannot let you do this.”

“It means far more to you than it does to me because I did not grow up with your traditions. However, I understand the symbolism. I understand subjugation better than anyone in our world, and you made damn sure of that.”

Ouch.

“But Blaise said this is about the work you are willing to do for your partner. That you put them before your pride and that your relationship is pure.” Hermione paused to take a slow, deep breath in. She exhaled and some of the tension seemed to leave her body. “I hurt you, and I want to wash it away, if you’ll let me.”

How could he say no? Draco tried to think of a reason to deny her. He stood there for several seconds, unable to give Hermione an answer. 

She frowned and wondered, “Why are you so afraid of this?”

Draco shook his head and felt water begin to pool in the corners of his eyes. _Goddamnit_. He was so exhausted of tears. 

Hermione shouted back at him, “Tell me why!”

“Because you can’t love me this much!” 

“According to whom?”

“According to me! I am not worth this, Hermione.” Draco kneaded at his eyes with the heels of his hands then tossed his hands in the air, exasperated. “I’m just not.”

“Sit in the chair and let me tell you all the reasons you are.”

He shouldn’t let her do this, but right then she looked like the Hermione he remembered from their first lunch together. She was so sure of herself. Hermione stood a little straighter and had that look on her face, the one she had when there was a distinct task she needed to accomplish. She looked powerful and he wouldn’t take a moment of that away from her.

Draco took a tentative step toward the chair and shrugged off his coat. He sat down, placing one leg on either side of the stock pot. He folded his jacket in half and placed it in front of his feet. Hermione knelt upon it and immediately went to take off Draco’s left loafer.

“Our first date is the happiest moment of my life. I was so content. You smiled at me, and when you smile your eyes go all wide like you want to see every bit of that moment. Take in all you possibly can.”

Hermione gently held Draco’s ankle still as she removed his shoe. She slowly pulled off his sock and placed it inside the loafer. As she proceeded to the right shoe, Hermione said,

“I loved being with you because we had the entire future in front of us. All I could think about was being at your side for the rest of my life. It’s completely mad to think about it on the first date, but I wanted to keep experiencing things with you because I love you.”

Draco’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. She said it. _She said it!_ It took every ounce of willpower Draco had to remain in the chair and not pull Hermione into a hug. He hadn’t realized how desperate he was to hear those words until she said them. Hermione turned her attention to his right shoe and said,

“Ron and I were married for years but children were not in our immediate future because I was terrified of how I would be as a mother. There are so many questions and all the answers are subjective.” She slowly pulled off Draco’s shoe, then his sock, and pushed them aside. Hermione said nothing as she rolled up the legs of his trousers, two finger widths at each turn. “When you introduced me to Scarlett and Sebastien I saw you in a new light. You are so confident with them. Honest and vulnerable in a way I never thought I could be with my own child, let alone someone else’s.”

Hermione twisted the pot to get a better angle and Draco could not pry his eyes away as Hermione dipped his foot in the water. It was lukewarm and the pot was just barely big enough, but he didn’t care. Something about seeing Hermione Granger on her knees in front of him, supplicating herself like this did not sit well. Hermione used the pads of her thumbs to slowly massage the top of Draco’s foot.

“As I got to know them, they helped me to understand you; the high regard you have for family and commitment. And the way you define family, which is completely contrary to everything I grew up with. You and Theo identify as brothers, though you have no relation to each other. Once I saw the two of you together, however, I understood.”

“There was never a moment we decided to consider each other that way,” replied Draco. “It was simply who we were.”

Hermione continued to work water over Draco’s foot and admitted, “You are so confident in your identity. While you struggle with loving who you are, you have _accepted_ it. Being bisexual is hard in our world, but you never questioned it. You never truly hid from anyone. You have the strength to present yourself to the world as you are, while I hid so much of myself away. Anything that hurt, I held it back. I was learning how to express painful things from you, but not quickly enough. It all overflowed when ...”

She trailed off and pulled the towel from her shoulder.

“When you hit me,” Draco finished.

“Yes.” Hermione looked up at him and said the words, “When I hit you. I did that.” She choked up and insisted, “I am so sorry, but I did it, I hit you and you didn’t deserve it.”

Draco nodded in agreement. Hermione began toweling off his left foot and he wondered why it didn’t feel awkward. In those moments when he allowed himself to imagine his wedding, to imagine the ceremony he wanted to have, he skipped this part. It was too meaningful to project and too awkward to envision. It should have been weird, but he just stared at Hermione and wondered what the hell she saw in him to make this meaningful.

She looked up at him and said, “You’re thinking too much.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk.”

Hermione laughed and shifted the stock pot so she could work on his right foot.

“Harry says I smile more when I’ve been around you. You know, he was never really against you and me being together. I think he just wanted to take Ron’s side, which ... Well, everyone wanted to take Ron’s side like he is some jilted lover.” She lowered his foot into the water for a moment before pulling it out and pressing her thumbs into the arch. “He never cheated on me physically, but he and Alicia had an emotional affair the entire time we were together. Yes, I was close to Viktor but not in the same way. I gave a hundred percent of myself to our marriage and Ronald gave about three-quarters.”

“I will never understand why he wanted out.”

“Because we wanted different futures. ‘Let’s make a family, Hermione. Let’s live our life the way everyone seems to live theirs.’ I never wanted to be like everyone else. What good is all of my power if I can’t use it?” Hermione paused for a moment as she continued to pour water onto Draco’s foot, far more than she needed to. She was lost in thought for several seconds before she dropped everything to grip both handles of the stock pot. “Then again, what good is it if it hurts you?”

“One mistake does not define who you are.”

“It defines _us!_ ” Hermione sat back on her heels and let her head fall into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she finally let everything out. “You’re not Ron, y-you are better for me than he was,” she sniffled, “but I couldn’t be better for you.”

“Nobody taught you how.”

Hermione rested her forehead against Draco’s knee and insisted, “That is not the sort of thing someone should need to teach me.”

“A twenty-eight-year-old man should not need multiple people to teach him to eat food, Hermione, but here I am.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because ... I don’t know, because it just is!”

“You think it is different because you have impossible expectations for yourself.” Draco leaned back in the chair and said, “Maybe it is because everyone expected you to save the world and then you did.”

Hermione looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Her eyeliner was smudged and her foundation had worn off where she kept patting her cheeks. She looked so vulnerable when she asked,

“How do I live up to that?”

Draco shrugged.

“You allow yourself to be happy in the world that you saved.”

She picked up the towel and wiped the water from his foot. Hermione picked up the pot and sat it behind her. She wiped her hands then balled up the towel underneath the chair. Hermione picked up Draco’s socks and replaced them on his feet. 

“The truth is I can’t do that, I can’t be happy without you. But I don’t deserve—”

“You deserve _everything_ , Hermione. Everything I can give you.”

“How can you say that?”

Hermione reached for Draco’s shoe but he held up a hand to stop her. Draco stood up from the chair and kicked them aside. He waved his hand and the chair slid backward, far enough for Draco to kneel in front of Hermione and gently tilt her chin up so she would see the truth in his eyes. 

“You deserve everything because I believe you do. Nothing else matters.”

“How do you know you wouldn’t be happier with someone else?”

“I told you, I gave it a go. He was older, but very kind. He had been hurt before, too, and it was nice to find someone who shared my pain.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

Draco stiffened for a moment, because the last time they were together and he gave her an answer she didn’t like, it broke them both. But there was no room for secrets between them anymore. 

“Yes.”

Hermione flinched and looked down at the floor. She nodded and sniffled a bit, admitting,

“I deserved that. _You_ deserved that.”

“And yet, it did not compare to what we have.” Draco wiped away a stray tear on her cheek with his thumb. “Because I do not want to be the man my father was. I do not want to be that sort of parent, have that sort of relationship to my family, to my goddamn _name_. The sort of family I want is me raising my child with a partner I love. I want to see her in my son, and I want her to feel like she can count on me when she needs me to be there. Like this, Hermione. Just like this.”

“Okay.” Hermione nodded, more for herself than for Draco. “Perhaps if you believe I am worthy of you, then I should believe it, too.”

“I will spend the rest of my life making sure you believe it.”

Draco closed his eyes and kissed her, just the slightest touch, only enough to promise more would come. He pulled back but Hermione’s breath was still warm against his lips. 

“Just give me time,” she whispered. “I need time before I can feel confident around you again.”

“All the time you need.” Draco kissed her softly on the cheek. “And Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“I forgive you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts about this chapter. Hermione told Blaise how she would like to apologize to Draco, and that's why he picked out a pair of slip-on shoes instead of a pair with laces. Blaise stole Draco's coat because he thought it made Draco look gorgeous and decided to keep it as a memento of their relationship. (And it's a really great coat.) It was Scarlett's idea to put bows on Draco's butt. #GiveGabeHisEarringsBack2020
> 
> I hope this met your expectations for their reunion. ❤️ And I hope that you are all happy and healthy.


	46. Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has ghosted Draco for a month, Draco finds out he is descended from a bunch of misogynistic assholes, and some Bean cuddling to wrap it all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been very lightly edited so I apologize for any errors. Chapter takes place on October 21st, 2008. 
> 
> CW: Implied/Explicit Sexual Activities  
> CW: Strong Language  
> TW: Reference to Physical Abuse

The Ministry of Magic was a strange place.

Draco nearly lost his life in the courtrooms on Level Ten and the love of his life headed up the IMC on Level Five. Walking into the Atrium was more manageable than it used to be, but Draco still felt a little off. Like it was never quite a safe place for him to be.

“We are meeting with _____________, he has been advising me on the Malfoy estate since I took over back in January.” Tracey said a name, but Draco did not retain it. “Theoretically, I could have handed everything back over to you myself, but I wanted you here so we could do this officially. Want to ensure every decision is something you want.”

They stepped into an empty lift; Draco set his shoulders and stared straight ahead.

“I trust you with all of it.”

“I know, but I don’t want anything to surprise you.”

“There is one thing I need to do anyway.” Draco listened to the lift ding once, twice, and then for a third time. “It has been on my mind for awhile, but we need to do it now before these things slip away again. The estate is a massive burden.”

“Did you ever even want it?” asked Tracey.

The lift signaled Level Five and they stepped out.

Draco admitted, “When I was younger it always seemed so far away. My father is the sort of awful person who will live far past when he justifiably should. I thought I would be old and wrinkled and grey before it fell to me. Then the war happened, I avoided Azkaban by the grace of God, and while they never intended it to be a punishment, handing the estate over to me was the worst thing the Wizengamot could have done outside of prison.”

“I doubt your parents consider it a punishment.”

“Well my mother married my father, so right there you can cast serious doubt upon her judgement.”

“Do I detect I bit of resentment?”

“God, Trace, I am _brimming_ with it. I haven’t seen my father since January, and my mother since December. Being away from them is the most freedom I have had in years.”

“Is it, though?” asked Tracey. 

They walked down the hall and into an office marked, “Records.” Draco followed Tracey and asked,

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not really free, are you? Getting you to leave Blaise’s house is like pulling teeth. You are letting your girlfriend drag you around by the bollocks—”

“OI!”

“Oh, you know it’s true. ‘I need time’ is what she told you, yeah? And you didn’t ask how much time. You didn’t say, ‘Let’s talk in a week.’ What did you do? You told her you love her and then she asked you to leave. No shag, no reassurance of any kind. You _let_ her do this to you.”

“You sound like Blaise.”

“Well, he’s not entirely an idiot.”

“But I am?”

“In this case, yes.”

“Penelope says it is healthy we are still taking time apart.”

“Your therapist spends one bloody hour with you each week. I know you, Draco, I love you, and I care for you as my own family. It is _not_ healthy to let her dictate your relationship based on her fear. If I saw a man doing that to one of my girlfriends, I would tell her the same thing I am telling you: _get a fucking grip._ ”

Draco frowned and said, “Thanks, Trace.”

She shrugged and replied, “Sometimes it is hard to watch you walk through life. There are moments when I wish I could look away, but I can’t.”

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t living it.”

Tracey grabbed his arm and snapped, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Not like ... _NO._ ” He huffed and pulled his arm free of her grip. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant to say I wish I could watch it instead of living it firsthand. That is what I meant, not ... Not the other thing.”

“You’re lucky I believe you.”

Just then, a man walked out and introduced himself as _________. Draco looked down at his proffered hand, then back up at the man with what he could only hope was an impatient glare. This man was average. Build, looks, height ... He was perfectly forgettable. Draco did not care to remember his name.

Honestly, he did not care for much of the conversation either. He came in and out, nodded at appropriate intervals, and pretended to read the pieces of parchment shown to him. Two hours later, the man said the words Draco had longed to hear:

“Onto our final section.”

Draco couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“I do not anticipate any change but I still need to ask about the beneficiary policy. As of now, all your assets would, in case of your death, be passed along to your firstborn.”

“Right,” Draco grimaced, “that needs to change.”

The advisor frowned.

“Sorry?”

“As of now, there is a substantial chance I will not have children. I may very well be the end of the Malfoy line and we need to prepare for that.”

Tracey asked, “What about Hermione Granger?”

“I have not heard from her in weeks and the thought of making a family with someone else is unbearable to me. I want to include a beneficiary in case I do not have a child of my own.”

“Alright.” The advisor shook his head and Summoned a pile of parchment from one of the drawers on a far wall. It landed on the desk with a loud thunk! “Technically you can do that, though there are some restrictions.”

“Sebastien and Scarlett Nott will be the recipients of the Malfoy estate should I not have children.” Draco nodded and asked, “Are we through?”

“Draco, as much as I appreciate how deely you care for the twins, I don’t know if either of them can handle that responsibility.”

Before Draco could respond, the advisor revealed, “You can’t do that.”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

“This,” he grabbed the massive stack of parchment and dropped it in front of Draco, “is the complete legal history of the Malfoy estate. One of the stipulations is that the estate only be passed from male to male, meaning Sebastien Nott would be your only legal beneficiary. Now, what he chooses to do once it is in his hands, he could give half to his sister. Though, mind the fact that he would be under no legal requirement to do so.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco shook his head, “ _what?”_

“The estate must pass from Malfoy man to son, or male to male. I believe the original intent was to ensure that if a girl was firstborn, her younger brother would still inherit the estate. This situation was never taken into account, so we must work within the confines.”

“Then we will change the restriction.” Draco shrugged, annoyed this would eat up so much more time. “How soon can we have that done?”

The advisor had a pinched look on his face. He gestured to the stack of parchment and said,

“Perhaps I have not made this clear. Your family is explicit about the handling of your assets. To change this, you would have to argue your case to the lower family court and you will lose because there is no legal ground upon which to reject the stipulation entrenched in well over sixteen generations. Which means you would take your appeal to the Wizengamot. In the unlikely event they agreed to hear the case, candidly, most of them hate you and view you as a war criminal who got out of a prison sentence many of them voted for. You will lose.”

“So ...” Draco pressed one hand to his forehead and asked, “My goddaughter will not inherit half my wealth because I did not go to Azkaban.”

“Well, that’s oversimplifying it a bit—”

“This can’t be legal.” Tracey insisted, “You cannot discriminate against my daughter like this.”

“You’re right, I can’t, but Lucius Malfoy I did. And those who came after him did so with great enthusiasm.”

“Hypothetically, if my life played out exactly the way I want and I marry Hermione Granger, if we had a daughter she would have no claim to what is rightfully hers?”

“Correct.”

Tracey insisted, “That’s _illegal!_ ”

“No, because it is in the paperwork. This is not an ex post facto sort of case. I cannot do anything about the restrictions without a judgement from the courts.”

“What if I abdicated?” asked Draco. “If I give up my name and all claim to the Malfoy estate, what happens then?”

“No,” Tracey smacked his arm, “you can’t do that.”

“I want to know.”

“Then the Malfoy estate goes into the hands of the Ministry. They will sell off most of it, probably keep the manor as Ministry property, and you will have absolutely no access to any of it.”

“Long story short, replied Draco, “I am fucked.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“Fine,” Draco slumped backward in his chair and said, “put Dean Thomas as the beneficiary. I will revisit it in a few years if we cannot get the restriction lifted.”

**.oOo.**

“Do you mind if I make a stop at Hermione’s office?”

“Not at all.” Tracey rubbed circles on Draco’s back. “This affects her, too. And I think it would do you some good to see her. I’ll mill about the atrium for a bit.”

“There’s no need to wait for me. You should go home, Trace, you have done so much for me already.”

“I am happy to do it. I couldn’t have been as far with my business if you hadn’t given me that space in Knockturn Alley, plus the loan—”

“Giving you real estate in Knockturn Alley was an investment opportunity to brighten up the area. It makes the surrounding real estate more valuable. Trust me, you did more for me than I did for you.”

“You need to stop downplaying the things you do. We are here to help you because you are family and you help us when we need it.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you do.” Tracey turned and shouted over her shoulder, “Go see your girlfriend, or whatever the hell she is now.”

Draco walked down the hall and opened the door marked, “IMC Department Head.” There were seven people working in cubicles along the left wall. Straight ahead was Hermione’s office, while Romilda Vane was at a large desk along the right wall. She looked up right as he walked in and grimaced.

“Lovely to see you, too,” quipped Draco.

“No, it’s just that she’s had a bit of a morning. Then she had a terrible lunch with the Supreme Mugwump and now you’re here, which is only bound to upset her.”

“Why would visiting my girlfriend upset her?”

“You’re her boyfriend?” asked Romilda.

Draco took a stunned step back and ran a hand over his chest.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“She always calls you ‘Draco’ or ‘Malfoy,’ never her boyfriend. I know you reconciled, but I assumed it wasn’t quite official yet, is all.”

“Oh my God.” Draco shook his head and said, “I have completely misread the situation. Don’t bother telling her I stopped by, forget I was here.”

“NO!” insisted Romilda. “I am sure she will be fine, if you only—”

“What are you doing here?”

Draco turned to see Hermione standing in her office doorway, looking so very small. He grumbled,

“Fucking hell.”

“Sorry?”

“I was leaving. That’s what I was doing, I was leaving.”

“Perhaps you should come in.”

“No,” Draco replied, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have two very different understandings of what is happening right now.”

Hermione said, “I think you showing up uninvited at my office is what is happening.”

Draco groaned, “Hermione, what the hell are we doing?”

“I told you I need time.”

“When you said you needed time, I thought you meant you needed time to ease back into how we spent our time together before all this happened. I did not realize you would ice me out until you were ready for life the way it used to be.”

Hermione anxiously glanced toward the cubicles then insisted, “This conversation is better had in my office.”

“To which I was not invited.”

“I am inviting you now.”

“Well I don’t think I will accept.”

“Draco, please come sit down in my office.”

“Or what,” he snapped, “you’ll hit me?”

Romilda gasped and covered her mouth. Hermione crossed her arms and looked at the ground. _Good._ That was exactly how Draco wanted her to feel, guilty and ashamed. He hadn’t recognized the truth of Tracey’s words until Romilda had put it so plainly: Hermione was not his girlfriend.

Draco turned to leave, but Hermione’s voice followed him toward the door.

“I am sorry. Will you please come in?”

He didn’t stop walking.

“Draco, please! I love you and I don’t want you to walk away from this!”

“No,” Draco turned around and said, “if you loved me you would not have strung me along for a month. No clear boundaries; you expect me to wait with no reciprocity on your end. I have written you letters with no response. I show up here only to be told to bugger off. I love you with everything I have, so where is that from you, Hermione? _Where is it?!_ ” 

“Please,” she begged, “come in so we can speak freely.”

Draco was about to turn around yet again, when he spotted a small square on Hermione’s back wall. It was barely visible from his vantage point, but he knew exactly what it was. The small painting of an orange cat he gave her last Christmas. 

She kept it.

She cared enough to keep it.

Draco walked past her into the office and sat down in the chair. Hermione closed the door behind him then walked around her desk to sit on the other side. She looked ashen up-close, and sad. She looked so sad that Draco almost felt bad for snapping at her.

Almost.

Hermione opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a small silver flask. She placed it on the desk right in front of her and glared at it.

“Calming Draught,” she revealed. “I’ve had a shit day but I am not going to use it now. At least, I don’t believe I will, but I feel better knowing it’s here.”

“I am so angry at you,” admitted Draco. “I don’t care what sort of day you’ve had, because mine is worse. My weeks have been worse without a word from you. Did you not believe what I said when we last spoke?”

“I did, and I do. But you ... you didn’t let me ...”

“I didn’t let you what?”

“I was trying to apologize and you got down on my level. You met me where I was, when you should be above me. I have to earn my position in your life and I don’t know how to do that.”

“You can start by _being in my life._ ”

Hermione nodded.

“Tell me why you decided to visit today, of all days.”

“Tracey and I had an appointment with one of the blokes in the records office to finalize the paperwork and transfer the estate back over to me at the first of the year.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise and said, “I didn’t know you gave it up.”

“I couldn’t handle my own mind, let alone run the largest real estate business in Wizarding England. Tracey has done a good job of it.” Draco laced his fingers together and asked, “Would it be easier for you to love me if I was not a Malfoy?”

“Sorry?”

Draco sighed and explained everything the nameless advisor told him. Something in Hermione shifted as he spoke; she sat up straight and took notes on a spare piece of parchment. Draco watched as she slowly morphed into the girl from her early years at Hogwarts, nose practically pressed against the parchment. He had always admired her determination to solve a seemingly unsolvable problem.

“There is no reason for me to keep the estate. I can sell off my holdings and put all the money into a trust for Scarlett and Sebastien. Then I would abdicate my name without consequence and provide a financial future for the people I care about. I would just be Draco and perhaps that is better than being Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione hummed something under her breath.

“Sorry?”

She stopped writing and looked up at him.

“Would that make you happy?”

Draco shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know.”

“I will always love you, Draco, whatever surname you have.”

“In this case I would have no surname. The Malfoy name is property of the estate and I would be unable to legally retain it.”

“My point stands.”

“Does it?” asked Draco. 

Hermione sighed, exasperated.

“I was afraid! I am afraid of myself, Draco! What do you not understand about that? I don’t get to see myself through your eyes, all I see is how afraid you are when you approach me. For all I know, you should be.”

“I am afraid _for_ you, Hermione, because I don’t know how to pull you out of this. The fact that you are worried about hurting me is proof enough that you have changed. It makes me angry that you are more committed to avoiding me than you are willing to trust my assessment of who you are.”

She nodded.

“I understand.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I do.”

“This is a start, then.”

Hermione stared at the centre of her desk and said, “I think about kissing you every day. I remember waking up in your arms and I crave it. The days I got to see you were the best days of the week, and I spent every other day longing to see you again. The reason I need time is that there is no gradually falling back into this. I am in love with you. My solution was to take some space, but I see now that I failed to consider how it would hurt you.” She frowned. “I keep hurting you.”

“You hurt me by continuing to make assumptions. When I come to you with something to say, it is important that you trust what I am saying is true. It is also important that you discuss decisions with me before you make them, because I would have told you that staying apart is not what I want from you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I ...” All the anger left Draco at once, leaving him feeling defeated and alone. He slumped back in the chair and said, “I want you to tell me what to do.”

“You are asking for my opinion?”

Draco nodded. Hermione picked up the flask and put it back in the drawer. She closed it and looked up at Draco with renewed understanding in her eyes.

“I think being a Malfoy is intrinsically part of who you are. You can make the name mean whatever you want it to mean because _you_ own it, not your father. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met and I do not believe you want to run away from your problems. You spent the past few minutes calling me out for doing just that.”

“Well—”

“Furthermore, it is completely selfish of me, but I do not want you to give up your claim to the Malfoy line. I will overcome my fear and self-doubt, as will you. We will do it together, and at the end of all this I want to marry you. I want to have a child and watch you become the amazing father I know you will be. When I look at my future, all I see is you. You are the only thing I know that I want, and I _will_ fight for you. I am sorry for giving you the impression that I won’t.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Draco stood to leave and added, “In case I hadn’t made it clear enough, you will always hold my heart. All I ask is that you take care of it.”

Hermione stood up and walked around the desk so she was standing right in front of him. She looked him in the eyes and said,

“I promise to do a better job.”

“Thank you.”

Hermione stood on her toes and made to kiss him, but Draco turned his cheek. The hurt was evident on her face. Draco took a closer look and surveyed the dark undereye circles she hadn’t quite concealed. He noted that the lobe of her right ear was red, likely because she had tugged at the earring. She often did that before stressful meetings. Everything about her makeup was technically correct, but it didn’t look right. Something about Hermione was missing and Draco hoped she wouldn’t try finding it at the bottom of her flask. She stepped back and Draco opened the door.

“Goodbye, Hermione.”

“Can I see you soon?”

“If the past month is any indication, that is entirely up to you.”

**.oOo.**

Draco Apparated into the entryway of Blaise’s house, more confused than ever. He walked toward the living area and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He had been so angry at Hermione initially, but he wanted was to run back and take her into his arms. He should not have turned his cheek. Before he could even shrug off his robe, however, Draco blinked and saw two completely naked bodies intertwined on the sofa. They were quite an adorable pair. Dean’s neck rested against the far arm. His eyes were closed and he had a soft smile on his face. Blaise’s head was pillowed on Dean’s chest and both of them were covered in a light sheen of sweat like they had just finished ...

“OH MY GOD!”

Draco didn’t realize he had spoken his realization aloud until both of them jolted upright. Dean yelped and grabbed a pillow to cover himself. 

Blaise shouted, “What the hell are you doing here?! You were not meant to be home until five!”

“ _By_ five!” Draco shouted back. “I said I would be back _by_ five o’clock, as in _at_ five _or before!_ ” He glanced between the two of them and asked, “You crossed wands on the _sofa!_ But I sit there!”

“Oh my God,” groaned Dean. He let his head fall into his hands and mumbled, “I am moving continents.”

“I can assure you,” Draco glanced down to Dean’s crotch where the narrow pillow was not quite hiding everything, “you have nothing to be ashamed of. I, on the other hand, am going to need Blaise to cast a Memory Charm so I can forget this happened.”

“I propose all three of us forget this happened,” offered Blaise.

“This,” Draco gestured to Blaise’s nude form, “is nothing I have not already seen. However, I would prefer to not have the memory of you two _cuddling post-orgasm_ in my brain!”

Dean shook his head and insisted, “I am so sorry, Draco. I didn’t—”

Draco held up a hand to stop him. If this day had taught him anything, it was that running away from his problems solved nothing. If he was to remake the Malfoy name in his image, then he couldn’t very well do it from Blaise’s guestroom.

“Do not apologize for having sex in your own house. In fact, I have another proposal for you.”

Dean replied, “Go for it.”

Draco took a deep breath and said, “I think I should move out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot, but I hope you enjoyed it. At least the ending bit. I'm not super thrilled with it, but Bastien should get married next chapter and you know how much I love to write a good wedding. I hope you all are happy and healthy!


	47. The Long and Short of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco realizes he messed up with Hermione, tries to explain bisexuality to his parents, and a golden guest appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't a big fan of the last chapter, so I hope this one's better. Either way, next chapter we get a wedding so that'll be fun. Please forgive any errors as it's very early in the morning. 
> 
> TW: Body Image Issues  
> TW: References to Physical Abuse  
> TW: Biphobia

Draco walked into Clearwater & Patil that Thursday, struggling and confused.

Penelope walked him back to her office and sat behind her desk like everything was normal. Everything was frustratingly ... _the same._ Draco took his usual place in one chair, tossed his coat onto the other, and wondered how to tell her that he was about to turn his entire life upside-down. To tell her he mucked things up rather spectacularly. Penelope dipped her quill in ink and smiled at him.

“How was your week?”

“I ... um, well ...”

Her smile wavered at the corners.

“That’s not promising.”

“Dismal, would be the best word.”

She shifted in her chair and replied, “Do tell.”

“I visited Hermione at her office and said some things I shouldn’t have.” Draco ran one hand through his hair and wondered how much he should say. Whether he could even repeat it. “I said I didn’t care about how terrible her day had been because all of mine were terrible without her. I essentially said she was leading me on, which she was, but the way I said it ... Well, I wanted it to hurt her. I was so angry, and I looked back on it yesterday and realized that I was doing to her exactly what she had done to me. She keeps doubting herself and it makes me angry, so I hurt her. Hermione hit me because she was angry that I doubted myself and our relationship.”

“Mhmm,” Penelope scribbled notes on her parchment, “how did she react to your outburst?”

“I would say she was contrite. She is unbearably sad now and it hurts to look at her. I can see it underneath all the makeup and the nice dresses, she is trying to cover up the pain. I know Hermione regrets what she did to me and has terrified herself far past the point of ever doing it again. However, she doesn’t see that in herself. She continues to get smaller and weaker each time I see her, and I worry I am not enough to pull her out of it.”

“What do you believe she is doing that makes her weak?”

“Hermione is a methodical, logical person who tends to have a narrow focus. She can see everything, take it all in, but will only dive into what she deems important. She is literally trying to keep the world together and in the process she has forgotten how to keep herself together.” He frowned. “I am sure our situation has not helped things. Weasley said she threw herself into work after our breakup, and she has not taken any time since to breathe.”

“That is not your fault.”

“I feel like it is, though.”

“Because you care for her.”

Draco added, “We both want to be together once we are of sound mind, but neither of us knows when that will be.”

“Why wait?” asked Penelope. “Do you need to be fully recovered before trying again, or can you work together? From my perspective, it appears the longer you two are apart the further you sink into yourselves. You see the best in each other and you need that.”

“Well, perhaps ...” Everything Draco had been trying to understand about Tuesday finally settled in his mind. “She stood by me even when I was in the middle of relapse. Even when my friends doubted me, she understood my motivation for leaving. Hermione was never upset that I left, she was upset that I left without saying goodbye. She kept her distance when I wasn’t ready. She did not pursue me outside of friendship, even once she revealed her feelings for me. Hermione waited until I came to her, ready to be partners. Maybe I need to wait for her to be ready to come to me just the same.”

Penelope grinned down at her parchment.

“Now you’re getting it.”

“So I fucked up horribly and don’t know what to do about it.”

“She will let you know what to do when the time is right for her.”

“Speaking with her brought up another issue.”

Penelope nodded for Draco to continue as she continued to scribble down notes.

“I have decided to move back into the manor. Staying with Blaise is continuing a pattern of running away from my problems. I needed time to focus on recovery, but now I am avoiding my entire life and I can’t do that anymore.”

“Wonderful.”

“The only problem is that I have to speak with my parents, and I am not sure how to do that.”

“You sit them down and you tell them what you need them to do.” Penelope shrugged and said, “That’s all you can do, really. If this time apart has not shown them how seriously you are taking recovery and this new phase of your life, then perhaps living with them is not the healthiest course of action for you.”

“So, I sit them down and outline all the requirements for me to move back in?”

“No.” Penelope insisted, “You have decided to move back into _your_ house. You outline all the requirements for them to stay.”

**.oOo.**

The interior of Malfoy Manor was nearly unrecognizable. When Draco stepped through the front door he was met by a large marble staircase. The railings were made of dark wood and a large chandelier hung down from the ceiling two floors above. It was all so bright and wonderful, Gwendolyn truly outdid herself. Draco walked into the middle of the grand hall and turned in a slow circle. There were doors that led to rooms that weren’t there before. The familiar rooms had been shuffled around and it felt new. So many dark memories had been embedded in the manor walls that the only solution was to build new walls.

“Your father and I have gotten used to it.”

Draco looked over to see his mother leaning against the left side of the staircase. He ran to hug her and said,

“It’s good to see you, mum.”

“It has been so long,” she patted his back, “I thought you may have forgotten us.”

Draco grimaced.

“Is father here?”

“Your letter said he should be here, so he is here.” Narcissa placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and said, “He will try to understand, if you only let him. He loves you but he needs help to get there.”

“Right, best be getting on with it, I suppose.” Draco looked around then asked, “Where are we going?”

Narcissa led Draco to a door on the left and opened it to reveal Lucius Malfoy sitting in, quite honestly, the largest study Draco could imagine. The wall on the right was covered floor to ceiling in a display of Malfoy relics and ancient magical artifacts. Light filtered in from two large windows on the opposite wall and it was such an open space that bore little resemblance to whatever had been there before.

“This was the parlor,” Lucius said. “The Hedgeflower woman put two suites where the drawing room was and the new drawing room is down here, just across the hall.”

“It is amazing. Better than I could have imagined.”

“I suppose you are entitled to your incorrect opinion.”

Draco swallowed his instinctive, _My opinion is the only one that matters_. Instead, he took his place in the chair across from his father as Narcissa sat next to Lucius on the chaise lounge. The room was massive, and the air was thick with his father’s hauteur. Draco felt like the room would swallow him whole.

Lucius demanded, “Say what you came here to say.”

Draco steadied himself and replied, “I want to move back home.”

“Yes,” replied Lucius, “your letter made that clear.”

“We will be so happy to have you back!” Narcissa added, “We missed you more than we can say.”

Somehow, Draco doubted the ‘we.’

“Before we move forward with it,” he revealed, “there are a few conditions.”

“Nothing with you is ever so easy,” his father quipped.

“It is actually _one_ condition.”

“Spit it out, then.”

“I want to marry Hermione Granger.”

Narcissa’s entire face lit up as she asked, “Truly?! How wonderful!”

“No,” Lucius shook his head and insisted, “ _not_ wonderful. She is a Muggle-born divorcee! The Malfoy line--”

“Will be over if I do not marry her,” snapped Draco. “Hermione is everything to me. While it will be a lot of time before we are at a place where I can ask her to marry me, we both admitted our intentions toward each other. I will not have children with anyone else. I will not make a family with anyone else, father. If I am to move back in, you must understand Hermione is part of the deal.”

Lucius Malfoy looked at his son, confusion etched across his features. His mouth dipped into a slight frown and a tiny eleven appeared between his eyebrows. He wrung his hands and huffed out one sharp breath before asking,

“You love her?”

“I do.”

“Could you light a candle for this girl?”

“Yes.”

“You love her the way you loved Gabrielle Delacour?”

Draco mirrored his father’s confusion.

“I do not understand the question.”

Narcissa placed one hand on her husband’s knee and said, “I believe your father is trying to say that the love you had for Gabrielle and Astoria came from your heart, while your love for Blaise Zabini always seemed to be a bit more ... _physical_.” 

“Oh, God.” Draco groaned. “I cannot believe you two are asking about this _now_.” But something was off in his father’s expression. “You are serious, aren’t you? You truly believe there is a difference.”

“To be fair,” replied Narcissa, “you never explained it to us. You came home one holiday and told us, ‘Mum, dad, I am bisexual.’ Then you went on to eat your breakfast and expected us to accept it.”

“How bloody awful of me to expect my parents to _accept_ me for who I am.”

“You misunderstand. My point is that you never explained what it meant, the intricacies of it. Your father and I presumed you love women a certain way and men in another. Now, we understand we may have been mistaken.”

“I see, and you are concerned my love for Hermione might not last because ...” Draco bit down on his lip because _this_ was a terrible notion. “You believe it may not last because Blaise lasted longer than Astoria and Gabrielle put together?”

Lucius confirmed that assumption with a nod. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Okay, okay, are you expecting me to explain it to you now?”

“I believe it would help us understand your situation. Your mother believes our ignorance of it has contributed to your other problem.”

“First off, my sexuality is not a problem.”

“I did not intend to say that it was.”

“But you did, though. You believe it to be a problem.”

Lucius Malfoy huffed, “I consider it an inconvenience, yes, but it is no longer a problem. I believe your mother and I are past the stage of parenthood when we were desperate for you to follow in our footsteps. It has been nearly a year since we have seen you, and as such we are happy you are here at all. We both would like to understand this part of you.”

Something snapped in Draco and all the anger sort of floated away. He offered his father a watery smile and said,

“I appreciate that.”

“Don’t appreciate it, _explain_ it to us.”

“How?”

“How would you explain it to anyone?”

“I have never needed to explain it to anyone.”

“Perhaps those of us who did not understand were unable to find the proper words to ask.”

“What the bloody hell am I meant to do with that? I am attracted to men and women the same way. I enjoyed having sex with Astoria just as much as I enjoyed having sex with Blaise. Is that what you wanted to know? It was different, but equally enjoyable.”

“To my ears,” said Narcissa, “it sounds as if you are willing to have sex with anyone.”

“Why? You look at men and the only one you want in your bed is father. Father could line up every woman in the world and he would only ever choose you. I am just the same with Hermione, only my line is twice as long.”

Lucius nodded but Narcissa said, “I am missing something.”

“Okay, then. Let’s say that there are only two types of robes in the world--”

“But--”

“ _Hypothetically,_ mother, there are only two types of robes in the world: long and short.”

Lucius asked, “Are men the long or the short?”

“It does not matter.” Draco tossed his hands in the air and said, “This is a gross oversimplification of it, but in the interest of your understanding let us say men are long robes and women are short robes.”

“Understood.”

“If I go to the shop, I never know whether I want a long robe or a short robe; it depends on several factors. Sometimes I will see a robe and know it is exactly the one I want.”

“Finally, a feeling I am familiar with!” Narcissa teased.

“Other times I need to try on the robe a few times before I can know for certain. Blaise, for example, would be a long lilac robe with silver trim. But it only worked because I like long lilac robes with silver trim. I would not like a short lilac robe with silver trim.”

Lucius frowned and said, “Now I am lost as well.”

“I believe I understand what you are saying.” Narcissa smoothed her robe over legs and said, “You liked Blaise _because_ he is a man. If everything about him was the same except he was a woman, you would not feel the same for her.”

“Yes!” Draco nearly leapt out of his seat. “Yes, that is exactly it!”

Lucius replied, “That makes no sense to me. If the person is the same--”

“I cannot explain it. Our world never gave me the room to explore it or the words so I could ask proper questions. Not even Penelope can give me a true answer.”

“Where does the Granger girl fit into this metaphor, then?”

“Hermione is the pair of slippers I will wear far past the time they are worn out. She is my favourite jumper, a well-worn pair of trainers, the t-shirt I always forget I have until I find it at the back of a drawer. She is my whole bloody wardrobe, father.”

“Then it sounds as if there is nothing your mother and I could do to stop you from pursuing her.”

“No, but I want your acceptance of it. In accepting who I am, you have to accept my choices. Hermione is the most important decision I will ever make, and if it comes to a choice between her and the two of you, there is no deliberation.”

Draco’s parents looked at each other for a moment and exchanged glances he did not understand. There was a moment of dread when they returned their attentions to him, and his hands began to shake. He wanted them to say yes, _needed_ them to say yes. If they could accept this part of him, they would find a way to love him through everything else. Before they could respond, words poured from his mouth.

“I am not sorry I stayed away because I needed that time for myself. After reconciling with Hermione, she told me that she wants to marry Draco _Malfoy._ This name, this fucking burden means more to me than I knew. I realize now that I want to be a Malfoy and I want to make my family here, in this house. I also want you to be part of my life and accept my future with Hermione.”

Narcissa smiled softly and said, “Then we will be here.”

“Somehow,” admitted Draco, “that seems too good to be true.”

“Ten months ago, we were worried you might not have a future at all. The Granger girl is the reason you began to take your future as seriously as your mother and I always have, and for that I believe we have no choice but to accept how you feel about her. Candidly, I believe she is above you and I worry you will share the same fate as the,” Lucius spat out, “ _Weasley._ ”

Draco insisted, “That will not happen.”

“How can you know?”

“Because she told me.”

Narcissa grimaced and said, “She promised the _Weasley_ they would be together always, then broke that promise. Why does she have your trust when she has proven herself more than capable of breaking it?”

“Because--”

“Narcissa’s point brings up another. How do we know she will not resort to violence again?”

“Exactly. This is a lifetime commitment and--”

“ENOUGH!” Draco shouted back. “This is exactly what I knew would happen. Both of you will claim to accept her then look for enough faults to justify why you won’t. I believe Hermione when she apologizes. I believe Hermione when she says she loves me and wants to spend the rest of her life with me as her husband.” He stood up as the anger came flooding back once again, always the push and pull with the two of them. “I trust Hermione and that is more than I can say for either of you right now. I will be back permanently in two weeks’ time.”

“Draco--”

“My son--”

“Don’t bother.” Draco turned his back and shouted over his shoulder, “I will always choose her. If you cannot handle that, then pack your things.” He grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind him with enough force to shake the hinges.

**.oOo.**

He was finally able to relax on Sunday. Draco took a long bath in the morning and thought about everything he needed to do to move forward in recovery. Blaise’s plate method was working well enough. It was not completely effective, but it established a pattern of time. Three meals each day at 9:30, 1:00, and 6:30. A snack at eleven if there were leftover croquetas. 

The mirror was his biggest problem. He was rounder, softer at the edges than he used to be. Granted, his bum looked fantastic, but everything from the waist-up was a problem. His collarbones were no longer prominent and his stomach protruded a bit. Actually, a bit more than a bit. Draco poked at it beneath the water and watched his fingertip sink into the skin. He frowned and glared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t asked for this.

Draco jumped when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

Dean’s voice filtered through, “You have a visitor.”

“Who the bloody hell would want to see me?”

_Hermione._

_Please say Hermione._

_I am ready._

_Tell me she is ready._

“Harry Potter.”

“Ugh,” Draco groaned, “tell him to piss off.”

“Don’t you want to know why he’s here?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“He won’t tell me, so it seems serious.”

“Fine.” Draco huffed, “Tell him I will be down in ten minutes.”

“Can you come out any sooner?”

“You and Blaise may be content to lounge about the house with your cocks out, but I am not.”

“I am truly sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Draco teased, “it’s great wank material.”

He heard Dean snicker as he left, presumably to entertain Potter, while Draco sat in the tub and listened to the water drain. He cracked his toes against the foot of the tub and groaned, realizing he had to get out. He half-dragged himself over the lip of the tub, Summoned a towel, and dried off. After pulling on pants, jeans, and digging out his best jumper, Draco found Potter sitting in a chair downstairs.

He greeted Draco with a stilted, “Hello.”

His hair stuck up in fourteen different directions. His trousers rode up a bit so Draco could see his socks didn’t match. Potter was wearing jeans and a cardigan over a Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt, an outfit Draco knew well. One he termed, “The first three things I put my hands on this morning.”

“You look like hell. Why are you here?”

Potter tightened his fingers around a large envelope and asked, “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

Draco nodded and led him into Blaise’s office. Once the door closed, he plopped into a chair and asked,

“What do you need from me?”

Potter shifted anxiously in his chair. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, then crossed them in the opposite direction. Draco waited until he was ready to speak. Potter would never seek him out unless it was important. It had to be about Hermione, didn’t it? Why else would--

“I am afraid Gin’s going to leave me.”

“Oh.” Draco frowned. “Why, if I may ask?”

Potter swallowed thickly and admitted, “The war never left me. I have ... _issues_ that linger. We’ve always managed fine before, but lately it’s taken a turn for the worse and I don’t see it getting any better. So ...” He pulled six pieces of parchment out of the envelope and tossed them onto the desk.

Draco looked at the letterhead and knew exactly what they were.

“You are the only person I know besides Hermione who’s done this. Maybe this is what I need, but I am terrified of letting all this out onto someone. There is so much shit I haven’t told anyone, not even Ginny. I knew about the place you and Hermione go, so I asked for an application.”

Draco guessed, “Page four?”

Potter nodded.

“I can’t fill it out.”

Draco shrugged, “I’ll do it for you, then.” He shuffled the first three pages to the back. “I had a terrible time with these. The blank spaces looked far larger than they were, so if you answer the questions I will write them down for you.”

“You are remarkably calm about this.”

“It is hardly surprising. If there is one person more fucked-up from all this than me, it’s you.”

“Comforting,” quipped Harry.

“Penelope has changed my life, so it should be of a comfort. If she can fix me, I am sure Clearwater & Patil can fix you, too.” Draco grabbed a quill and read the first box aloud. “Describe the issue for which you are seeking treatment.”

Potter ran a hand over his face and muttered, “Christ.”

“We can jump to the next--”

“Nightmares.” Potter paused for awhile and took a deep breath. He slumped a bit in the chair, like holding that in had been the only thing propping him up. “Bad ones. I hear Him in my head.”

Draco grumbled, “You are not alone in that.” He wrote ‘nightmares’ in the box. 

“There’s something else.”

“Get on with it, then.”

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“Fucking hell, Potter, give it a go. I am the very last person who will judge you for this. When I received this packet, I wrote down ‘I can’t eat food’ for the first time. That made it real to me. For the first time, someone else would know what was wrong with me. I understand how difficult this is, so tell me what is wrong and I will help you with the words.”

“Well ... It feels like part of me is missing. I can’t quite explain it except that I feel empty most of the time. Sometimes it goes away when I am holding Al or Jay. I can turn myself up for Hermione because she needs me right now. She is suffering so much and doesn’t even know it. But the rest of the time I am struggling to do the most basic things. Just watching Gin fold laundry makes me tired. Some mornings I can barely get out of bed.”

“Sometimes when you go to bed, you hope you won’t wake up the next morning?” guessed Draco. 

Potter nodded.

“It makes you feel even worse because you don’t want to leave your family. But then you realize you’re not truly there for them, anyway.”

“Exactly.”

Draco wrote it down without prying further. He read the next question,

“What caused you to seek treatment?”

Potter frowned and said, “That is the same question as the last.”

“No, you said your wife might leave you. That’s one answer.”

“Oh.”

Draco wrote down ‘marital problems.’

“There’s something else.” Potter tugged at the cuff of his jeans. “I was reading the paper last week and thought, ‘If the _Prophet_ runs another false story about me, I’ll kill myself.’ And it scared me because I meant it.”

Draco nodded.

‘Suicidal thoughts.’

“What are your goals in seeking treatment?”

“What?” asked Potter. “No reply to that? No, ‘go ahead?’”

“Without Penelope, I would be dead. Without my friends, I would be dead because after our little dinner last year I had a relapse. When I told Hermione, she hit me. I was on suicide watch for over a month because I had finally decided life was not worth living. My friends spent every goddamn second for _weeks_ making sure I understood that it was. I know what it’s like to give up on yourself, so I would never tell you to follow through on it. Plus, I owe you my life.”

“I think that’s overstating things a bit.”

“If I had been committed to Azkaban, I would be dead by now.”

“Seems a common theme with you.”

Draco shrugged, “What can I say? Death and I are close friends.”

“I can say the same.”

“We’re both pathetic bastards, then. Now, what are your goals in seeking treatment?”

They had the paperwork filled out in less than an hour. Draco stood up at the end and shook Potter’s hand before giving him the envelope of completed parchment.

“I am glad you thought to come to me for this. It was therapeutic in its own way.”

“Thanks for not being a cock about it.”

“Don’t go letting on.”

“Never.”

Draco dropped the handshake and sighed.

“Are you prepared for this?”

“Not at all. I have no idea what to expect.”

“Basically, you talk and they slowly get you to unravel your entire life in front of them. They make you see things you couldn’t see before and then you feel like a colossal idiot.”

“Not exactly the comforting words I hoped for.”

“It’s shit, but it helps. More than almost anything, it helps.” An idea popped into Draco’s brain. Completely mad, but, “Would you like to come to a session with me to see what it’s like?”

“Sorry?”

“After next week, since I have Bastien’s wedding shortly thereafter I will need Penelope to myself. If it helps you, I would be happy to show you what it looks like.”

“Do they do that?”

“Dunno, but you’re Harry Potter so I doubt they’ll tell you no.”

Harry’s face softened just the slightest bit when he asked, “You would do that for me?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“You are an integral part of Hermione’s life, and losing you would break her heart.”

“Oh.” Potter’s shoulders slumped. “It’s for Hermione. Of course it’s for her.”

Draco understood. When he was in that low place, the one he could not pull himself out of, all he wanted was someone to see he needed help then _choose_ to help. He clapped Potter on the shoulder and said,

“You saved my life, so let me help you save your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some bad news from my therapist yesterday. Sometimes even when you believe you're pushing forward, you're really just falling down. I keep trying to add laughs where I can, but I think the reason this story is so dark is that it's a reflection of me, of where I'm at. How do you write a happy ending when you have no idea how to get there? Anyhow, things will work themselves out. Always do. Hope you all are happy and healthy.


	48. Where We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heart-to-heart and some pre-wedding therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding will end up in chapter 49. This chapter takes place on October 29th - 30th, 2008.

Draco was not worried about the wedding until Monday.

It was five days away, and five days seemed to be a hell of a lot less than six. A Samhain wedding was even more intimate than the last ceremony Draco attended. Bastien, being a bastard with far too many friends, whittled them all down to Theo, Draco, and the very last person Draco would ever want to sit next to at a wedding. 

Ron fucking Weasley.

They were on decent enough terms that Draco was confident Ron Weasley wouldn’t muck up Bastien’s wedding, but ... The truth was Ron Weasley had the one thing Draco wanted more than anything. The one thing Draco wanted and was about to watch Bastien receive.

_Fucking hell._

He would be there for Bastien and he would be unselfish about it. That is the sort of thing best friends do. Draco wondered why he put so much stock in these ceremonies. Why did those moments make the absence of love so much more real? Draco ran his hand along the arm of the robe he would bring to the ceremony. Thank God he had another session with Penelope beforehand. He needed it.

Four days away.

Draco did not pull himself out of bed until noon. He brushed his teeth without thought. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and thought something was missing. Draco pulled on a black t-shirt that wasn’t quite as loose as it once was, tugged on a pair of trackies, and made for the stairs. It looked like such a long, treacherous journey that he couldn’t imagine taking that many steps before lunch. Draco sat on the top step and flattened himself so he sort of slid downward, stairs bumping against his spine until his feet hit the floor. He closed his eyes and groaned upon realizing he had to expend effort pull himself up.

“Draco?”

He turned his head to the side and looked through the bars of the rail to see Hermione sitting in the living area. He chuckled and whispered,

“Great, I’m hallucinating.”

She asked, “Did you just fall down the stairs?”

Draco frowned.

“Are you really here right now?”

“Of course I’m here!”

“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Draco shouted, using the railing to pull himself into a standing position. “Warn a man next time! I’m not even wearing pants!”

“Blaise and Dean left about an hour ago. They didn’t want to wake you, so I asked if I could wait.”

“Why?”

“Because you were right last week, and I ...” She shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you about where we are.”

“I suppose I should have pants on for this conversation, then.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Give me ten minutes?”

“As long as you need.”

Draco hustled upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and flung himself back into his room. He shuffled through the closet and tried to find an outfit Hermione would like. He grabbed a white half-zip sweater she mentioned she liked once, and pulled it on over his t-shirt. He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and huffed, impatient. He grabbed one of the spare bobbles on the sink and pulled half of his hair into a messy bun on top of his head, because he didn’t have time for much else. While he wasn’t happy with the style, Draco noted that he looked happier than he had two minutes earlier. It was as good an improvement as any.

He walked out the door and made it halfway down the steps before turning around with a loud, “FUCK!”

Hermione picked at something underneath her fingernail and asked, “Forget your pants?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny.”

Draco stood in front of Hermione two minutes later, wearing pants underneath the pair of black jeans Blaise said made his bum look good. Hermione made to sit on the sofa, but Draco grabbed her gently by the waist and guided her away.

“You don’t want to sit there.”

“Why not?”

“That is where Blaise and Dean have sex when I am out for the day.”

Hermione winced and smoothed out the front of her dress, the same one she’d worn to her birthday party except this one was light grey. She had a light coat draped over one arm, causing Draco to wonder how much longer she would have waited. Draco studied Hermione’s face, noting she looked exactly as she had when he popped by the Ministry. Her makeup was well-done, her hair was pulled back and professional, and she would have looked the part of IMC Head to anyone who didn’t know her. Draco, however, saw the pain in her eyes. 

“Are you alright?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I am not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Can we go for a walk?”

“Certainly.” Draco grumbled, “Anything except the debauched sofa.” He led Hermione outside and locked the door behind him, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. He turned and nodded toward the street, flipping the key ring between his fingers. They walked down the stairs together and he listened to Hermione, who seemed to be talking straight ahead to no one in particular more than she was speaking to him.

“After you came to my office, I realized some things. Or, well, Padma helped me realize some things.”

Draco didn’t respond. He wanted to reach out to her, hug her, promise everything would be okay. But was she ready for that? Did she _want_ that from him? He couldn’t know, so he kept walking.

“I never needed to be pretty for Ron. He saw me through all the horrible stages of adolescence and agreed to marry me when I looked like myself. I never felt like I needed to make an effort for him.” Hermione took a long, slow breath in before answering in one long rush. “When I told that to Parvati a few weeks ago she asked whether that might have been something that pushed us apart. And I think it might have contributed.”

“Do you believe you ever had the entirety of his affections?”

“No, but—”

“Then it was not your fault.” Draco took Hermione’s hand in his own and twined their fingers together. “The man I went out with all those months ago, his name is James. I like him because he made me feel very happy and content. We had great sex, we talked about art, and he didn’t judge me for my past. He was everything I could think to want.”

“Then why would you only go out with him once?”

“We’ve exchanged a few letters since, but he only makes me happy now. What happens when we tire of discussing art? He is ten years older than me, so there will come a time when he won’t be able to give me what I want in bed and I will resent him for it. And, most importantly, I want someone else more.”

“Why?” asked Hermione. “If I don’t make you happy and he does, it seems that I should be losing.”

“Candidly, Hermione, I have spent the past ten years of my life with a defined end date. While I didn’t know the illness had a name, I knew I was sick and that it would kill me in time. When my body finally started breaking down, I went to Penelope hoping to push Death off a bit, never truly expecting that I would stick to whatever cure she had for me. From the moment I was put on trial, I knew I wouldn’t see thirty.”

She allowed that revelation to settle between them. They walked in silence around the neighborhood, a whole block without saying a word. Draco was cognizant of every neighbor noting their connected hands.

“I understand you had deeper problems than I realized, but I do not understand why that means you would pick me over him.”

“Throughout all of this you are the only person who helped me to see I have something of value to give the world. It’s why Blaise envied you, and why Theo felt compelled to care for you when I couldn't. My recovery is for me, but you witnessed my darkest memories and still saw me as a person of value. You held me, cried for me, and told me it was alright to experience these things while moving forward without them. You taught me that I don’t have to carry the emotional weight of every relationship on my shoulders.”

“Perhaps my biggest flaw is being unable to take my own advice.”

“Never mind that, you were talking about Weasley.”

“Right, well I never needed to look pretty for him, and I liked that because it meant I could focus on other things. My career is the most important thing to me. Or it was until recently. Anyhow, I think I wasn’t the person he needed me to be for our relationship to work. Then I fell in love with you and I thought, ‘This is it, I will do it right this time.’ You never asked me to look nice, you only ever wanted me to look like me. I felt that you were right for me and I wanted more than anything in the world to be right for you.”

Draco insisted, “You are.”

“But I failed you!” Hermione pressed her forehead into the side of Draco’s arm and groaned. “God, I failed you so badly and I couldn't be who you needed me to be. I tried to keep myself together well enough to be what my job needed me to be, and I am failing at that, too! The IMC Head meets with foreign delegations every week, and it was suggested to me that I try to ‘make more of an effort.’ Which I would usually have taken as an insult until I looked at myself and realized I don’t look like someone who has their life in order. I looked like someone who hits their boyfriend and overindulges in Calming Drought. So I focused on looking like a professional diplomat, but I still haven’t _become_ someone who _feels_ like a diplomat. I don’t know what I am doing wrong.”

“You forget to breathe.”

“I breathe just fine.”

“No, you don’t. You keep going, keep running to work or therapy or the twins because you are terrified that if you stop you’ll find that there’s no one around. I promise, Hermione, I will be here for you if you want to slow down.”

“I don’t know how to do slow, Draco, I’ve been on the run since I was seventeen and I never stopped.”

“Perhaps that is your real problem, then. You should take some time off to think about what you want and how you intend to get there.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“Yes.”

They circled to the other side of the block and began to make their way back to the house. 

“What did you decide?”

“I’ve decided to stop hiding from my problems.”

“Hmm,” Hermione teased, “and how is that going for you?”

“Can’t say yet. I move back to the manor in a little over a week’s time. The estate will officially be mine at the first of the year. No more hiding out with Blaise and Dean, it’s time I rejoin the land of the living.”

“What do you plan to do?”

Draco grumbled, “Nothing of importance.”

“Which means it is of great importance.” Hermione squeezed his fingers and asked, “Tell me?”

“My intent was to begin making the manor more of a home for me ... and for you. That is, if you were serious about our future together. A life together would involve you living at the manor, which I know would be a massive commitment for you and I want to make it as easy and welcoming as possible.”

Hermione smiled up at him.

“I think that has more to do with the people in it than the floorplan.”

“Both my parents think you are too good for me, so there is finally something all three of us agree on.”

“I find that difficult to believe, given what I have done.”

“All things considered, the Malfoy name has taken a hit the past couple decades. If you were to marry me, make me the happiest man to ever set foot upon this earth, by the way, it would elevate our family’s status to new heights in the postwar era. My parents’ concerns are irrelevant.”

“What are their concerns?”

“As I said, irrelevant.”

“They believe I will hit you again.”

Draco stared straight ahead and insisted, “I know you won’t.”

“I only did those things when I was holding something back, ignoring all the pain I couldn’t be bothered with. Now that I am handling it a bit better, I think I can move forward seeing a time when I believe in myself with the same conviction as you.”

“I will wait for you, Hermione.”

“I know.”

“But you can’t shut me out like you did. I know this is hard, I still look at food and feel scared. I still feel like there is a chance I might be unlovable and I have to fix that before we can have the life we want. You have to learn it is alright to slow down and have a life that does not revolve around you trying to fix everyone else’s. When you make progress I want you to do _this_ , I want you to tell me about it.” 

They reached the foot of the stairs so Draco turned to face Hermione and took both her hands in his own.

“I chose you, Hermione, because I love your ambition. There were dozens of reasons I gave as to why I hated you at school, but the truth is that I hated you because you were better than me. I hated not being the best, and it didn’t matter I was always ten steps ahead of everyone else because I was always at least two steps behind you. That is exactly where I want to stay. I want to catch you when you fall and watch you lead the world into this new millennium. I don’t just want to love you at the end of this, I want to love you _through_ it. You have to let me in so I can do that.”

She sniffled and said, “You are too good with words.”

“I am good with the truth.”

“When I hit you, I was angry because you kept one moment from me. I suppose I have been keeping a hell of a lot more than that from you. Perhaps we could start over again?”

“How do you mean?”

“You can pick me up after therapy, and I can pick you up after yours. We can do lunch, talk about the session, about where we need to go from there. Perhaps this time we can do it right if we’re more honest about where we are.”

Draco nodded.

“I would like that very much.”

Hermione looked up at him and asked, “Can I kiss you this time?”

Draco grinned and stood up to his full height.

“Can you reach?”

Hermione stepped onto the first step and pulled Draco down into a kiss by the collar of his sweater. Both of them were so desperate, all teeth and tongues, Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist and pulled her in as close as he could. His hands were spread wide across her back; he ached for this moment for so long he was afraid of letting her go. Hermione pulled back and kissed Draco’s cheek.

“I have missed that more than I can say.”

He replied, “You can kiss me whenever you like, Hermione.”

“Good.” She kissed him softly on the lips then stepped down. She walked away and shouted over her shoulder, “Be seeing you.”

“Yeah.” Draco smiled softly and whispered, “Be seeing you.”

**.oOo.**

“You have a big day on Saturday.”

Draco nodded and leaned back to stare up at the ceiling of Penelope’s office. He counted the grey squares, not intending to say much about it.

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“No.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Penelope gently asked, “Why not?”

“Dunno.” Draco shrugged and sank further down into the chair. “Might have something to do with the last time I went to a wedding, which set me so far back I nearly died because I hated myself so much. Couldn’t see much of a future for myself, at least not one that looked like whatever the hell was happening in front of me. And now Hermione’s all about taking time, which I know we both need, but I feel like I’m running out of it.”

“Why are you running out of time?”

“Because all my friends are married.” Draco closed his eyes. “Except for Pansy, but she’s been travelling Europe since Katie dumped her all those months ago. When I did it everyone pitched a bloody fit about it, but it’s fucking fine when Pansy drops her entire life to disappear for awhile.”

“You seem bitter about that.”

“I am bitter about a lot of things, Penelope.”

“Why this?”

“If my friends had left me well enough alone I’d be dead by now and wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. Now I am stuck trying to piece my life back together, praying that Hermione can do the same so that sometime in the distant future we can finally be together.”

“Has she reached out to you?”

Draco nodded.

“She came to the house yesterday and we had a nice chat about where we see our relationship heading. Hermione agreed she would move into the manor once she’s got her head on properly. She wants to marry me, which is why this whole bloody wedding is ridiculous!” Draco sat up and leaned forward, begging Penelope for answers. “Why can’t my friends understand I don’t want to attend these festivities?”

Penelope asked, “Why don’t you want to go?”

“This is all I want!” shouted Draco. “This is it! Life with Hermione, supporting her, being the foundation for anything and everything she wants to be. _That_ is what I want out of life and it begins with a wedding. Bastien, Theo, and Blaise ... They all want other things. Blaise is a chef, Theo is a wonderful inventor, and Bastien eventually intends to own an apothecary. The only thing I want for myself is to be a parent, a true father in the way mine never was to me. Yet, all my friends are getting it before me. How is that fair?”

Penelope licked her lips and gently placed her quill back into the ink jar. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at Draco with pity in her eyes. He hated to see it.

“Could you not look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I keep missing the point.”

“You certainly need a different perspective.”

“Do I?”

“You already have a business, Draco. Your friends are working to keep theirs, or to move up in them. That means nothing to you because it is not a possibility in your line of work. You are working toward a healthy relationship in the same way. It is more difficult for you because of your circumstances. You have to put yourself out into the universe, Draco, you have to tell the universe you are ready for these things. And, the truth is, neither you nor Hermione are ready to make that commitment. I know Bastien Queensbury is ready to marry Padma, and I know she is happy to be with him. While I have not met them, everyone tells me Blaise and Dean are the closest thing they have ever seen to true soulmates. These things happen to them because they are ready.”

“And I am not?”

“You aren’t even living in your own house, Draco, so I would say with great confidence you are not ready for that commitment.”

Draco sniffed and looked out the window, unable to meet Penelope’s gaze. She was right. She was always so right.

“Toward the beginning of all this, Blaise said something at one of our cooking lessons that I didn’t give much thought to until right now.”

He took a slow breath in, and exhaled even slower. He felt the question radiating off of Penelope without so much as a glance toward her.

“Blaise said that while he wants to wake up next to Dean every day, no one is there to get him out of bed every morning. He has to love himself enough to start the day.”

“Why has that stuck with you after all this time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you love yourself enough to get out of bed in the morning?”

“Some days.”

“Most days?”

“I get out of bed when I have something to do. Or, in the case of this week, I sleep as long as I can to avoid thinking about the wedding on Saturday.”

“I have never been to a Samhain wedding. Padma mentioned it is a very involved ceremony.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, “it is.”

“Would you like to explain it to me?”

“I have a feeling Padma did a good enough job.”

Penelope smiled softly and insisted, “I would like for you to explain it to me.”

“Samhain is about new beginnings,” said Draco. “The ceremony itself lasts from sundown on the 31st to sunrise on the first. Most of it is rituals for Bastien and Padma alone, not that Bastien needs another excuse to worship Padma.”

“She loves him just as much.”

“Not sure how that’s possible, he’s a complete twit sometimes, but I love him and I am so grateful he has found someone that makes him happy. The part of the ceremony I and the other guests will partake in involves throwing away the old parts of your life you no longer need. The things that hold you back.”

“What do you plan to throw away?”

Draco bit down on his lip and wondered how much of an honest answer he should give. Penelope wasn’t writing anything down, which was unusual. It felt safer that way.

“Part of me keeps hoping to go backward. I miss being able to fit into old clothes, and part of me misses the feeling of success I got from skipping meals. That is why I eat regularly now, because if I don’t I will fall right back into that pattern. I know myself well enough to know I won’t be able to escape this a second time. I plan to throw away that version of me. I do not want to keep reaching back for it, thinking about what I could have been. I see the person I want to be, Penelope, I _see_ it. I just cannot figure out how to get there.”

She nodded and picked up her quill again.

“I like that for you.”

Draco nodded.

“However, we are running low on time and I need to discuss our plan for next week.”

“I figure Potter will sit back and watch.”

“This is not something we do. I looked at his application and it appears you filled out the final three pages.”

“He couldn’t do it on his own.”

“These sessions are for _you_ to work through your issues. I do not believe you will be able to fully utilize the hour if Harry Potter is here, watching you.”

Draco moved his chair forward until his chest rested against the edge of the table. He tapped his knuckles on the glass and insisted,

“He needs confidence in this process and what he sees in Hermione is only giving him more doubts. Looking at Hermione hurts me, so I can only imagine what he sees his best friend going through. He came to me, asking me for help. Harry Potter came _to me._ I don’t know if anyone truly understands how much pride he had to swallow for that to happen.”

Penelope agreed, “Harry Potter can certainly utilize therapeutic services. However, our sessions are private, one-on-one unless it is marriage counseling with Parvati. If you are performing for Harry, you won’t be getting anything out of it.”

“I think you know enough about me, Penelope, that I don’t perform in this room.”

“You don’t perform when we are _alone_ in this room.”

Draco snickered, “Normally I would be offended by that.”

Penelope rolled her eyes.

“The truth is that Harry’s trauma is so deep, Padma isn’t comfortable taking him on as a client. We are all relatively new to therapy, and dealing with someone who went through everything Harry went through is not something any of us have enough experience to deal with. We are considering an outside specialist.”

Draco’s eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline.

“There are others who do what you do?”

“Not here, no. We would bring in a specialist from America. There’s not much choice, anyway, since Potter is so close to Padma by way of Parvati. I don’t deal with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in any way. I am not trained for it. Your trauma caused something to change inside of you, and that is what I am trained to help with. Harry Potter’s wounds are so deep, I have no confidence I would be able to help him. My concern is that if he sees what our sessions are like and it goes differently for him with our new therapist, he will push back because it’s not what he knows to be proper.”

“No,” Draco shook his head, “Potter is not stupid.” He frowned. “Do not quote me on that. He knows what we are going through is different, he only wants to see what it’s like. He has no concept for what this is, and I was terrified the first time I came into your office. He’s got it far worse because of the pressure of his family. I want him to succeed at this; I _owe_ it to him. He has to start somewhere, and I would rather it be with me than on his own.”

Penelope looked at him with a strange expression on her face. If Draco didn’t know better, he would say she was impressed. Surprised, perhaps?

“That is a remarkably selfless thing for you to do.”

“Like I said, I owe him my life.”

“But you don’t, do you? Potter expects nothing, yet you are offering up the most vulnerable part of yourself for him to see.”

“He was vulnerable when he came to me, so I am perfectly fine returning the favour.”

“Two years ago, you wouldn’t have said the same,” replied Penelope. “You find yourself looking backward for the part of yourself you believe you have lost, but I think you allowing someone like Harry Potter to see you this way shows how much you have grown.”

“It doesn’t feel any different.”

“It is, though. You keep looking back even while you are moving forward. Imagine how much further along you would be if you focused on the man you want to become.”

“Why can’t I skip all these steps and get to the man I know I can be?” asked Draco. “Why doesn’t it work that way? If I see him, why can’t I be him?”

“If you take the short path, Draco, you cheat. If you cheat, then you are not ready to be the man you are meant to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so disappointed in these recent chapters, like this transition isn't working for me. There's so much work to be done and I hurt just thinking about how much writing I have left. I miss writing things that don't bleed readers and have actual payoff. When Draco hasn't been happy in twenty chapters and I'm like ... I can't even get him laid. He just keeps suffering and who wants to read that? Here's hoping the next few are better. Or, at least that Draco gets to experience something nice for once. I'll do my best.


	49. Forward Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastien gets married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I banged this out pretty quickly tonight, so please forgive any errors. Chapter takes place on November 1st, 2008.
> 
> TW: References to Anorexia & Bulimia  
> TW: Reference to Purging/Vomiting

Draco began getting ready at three o’clock on the day of the wedding.

He showered and pulled on his nicest trousers. He would wear his favourite button-down with a thermal underneath, and the grey suede coat Blaise had recently returned. An outside ceremony on November 1st was always a bold move but Bastien was worth the chill.

Draco did his hair last, as he wrung out as much water into the sink as he could. He stood in front of the mirror and pulled out all the necessary supplies. Dean popped in for a moment halfway through, clad in a Muggle t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He crossed his arms and lazily leaned against the bathroom door.

“Are you ... curling your hair?”

Draco nodded.

“Trying something new. Well, not entirely new, Gabrielle did this to my hair for awhile after we broke up. I have decided not to let this affect me like your wedding did; I won’t fuck up another one. I am doing this to excise all the anxiety. I mean, who the bloody hell has to get ready for a wedding at three-thirty in the morning?”

Dean smiled and insisted, “You did not negatively impact my wedding.”

“The memory of it.”

“Neither of us think about you as much now when we remember our wedding. It was about us, and the phenomenal sex we had the week after.”

Draco smiled and admitted, “That makes me feel better.” He covered another section of hair in Sleekeazy’s Curl Creme before rolling it up and pinning it to his head. “Long hair is traditional for Malfoys, but I tend to ‘wear it like a woman’ as my father would say.” He rolled and pinned another section. “It never bothered me until a couple days ago when I realized I put more effort into my hair than Hermione does to hers. I think my father might be right, and that I am taking on everything my mother does. I do my hair and fix up the manor and I want to be the more hands-on parent. I think in his eyes I am the woman, and that is what he means when he says Hermione is above me. I will do something right, but I won’t do it traditionally. To my father that is even worse than doing it wrong.”

“Why do you care?” asked Dean. “Why do you put so much stock in your father’s opinion?”

“Because he is the name.”

“Well now _you_ are the name. Now that it’s your name, Malfoys do their hair the way they want to and you should tell anyone who thinks you do it wrong to fuck off.”

Draco paused and observed, “You have a very strong opinion about this.”

“I have strong views about the value fathers should place in their sons.”

“I did think it odd that your stepfather wasn’t at the wedding.”

Dean snapped, “We don’t get on.”

Confused, Draco said, “You get along with everyone.”

“Not him.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You can ask, but I dunno if I’ll give you an answer.”

“Fine, then, I would like to know why someone who is part of your family has chosen not to like you.”

“Because I’m gay.” Dean laughed low in his throat. “I don’t let my stepdad tell me what to do with my dick; don’t let your father tell you what to do with your hair.”

Draco pressed his lips together and replied, “Not entirely sure those are equivalent, but I see your point.”

“I always think your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, truly.” Dean insisted, “It makes you look more like yourself. You’re always happier when you’ve spent time on it.”

Draco paused and turned to face Dean full-on.

“I am going to miss having you around. Blaise, too, but you have been so helpful to me this year. I dunno how to thank you.”

“Don’t try to kill yourself again, and we’ll call it even.”

Draco nodded.

“Can I ask you for one more honest answer?”

“Of course.”

“Are Hermione and I doing the right thing?” Draco anxiously twirled some hair around his finger. “Honest assessment, am I going to be what she needs?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Draco huffed, “I love Hermione because her power is bigger than she even understands. Potter’s myth will fade over time; centuries from now he will be nothing more than a children’s book. Hermione, however, is a fucking legend. Being in love with her is like locking myself in the Hogwarts library. I couldn’t read all of the books in a dozen lifetimes, so I read what I can and stand back to marvel at the rest. Sometimes I think she deserves someone who can read a bit faster.”

“She loves you and I am sorry she can’t show that to you properly right now. You’re a quick study, though, you’ll figure it out.”

Draco rolled one of the final sections and pinned it to his head.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Dean laughed.

“All I can say is that Hermione has been my friend for seventeen years and you are the first person who has ever helped her to understand what love looks like. Not when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.”

“So it’s a yes, then?”

“Look, Ron is one of my best mates. He is a great man and loyal to a fault. However, he pushed Hermione to the edge time after time because he didn’t understand her, and was ashamed of not being enough for her. You, on the other hand, are happy to stand behind Hermione. You understand your value comes from supporting her, and that she will give you everything you could ever ask of her.”

Draco pinned the final section of hair and said, “You always see things so clearly.”

Dean shrugged.

“It’s a gift.”

“God, you’re so fucking great. Do you understand how great you are?”

“Blaise tells me often enough. Though, I think there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”

Draco twisted the lid onto the curl creme and asked, “Am I so obvious?”

Dean nodded. Draco muttered a Quick Dry spell and felt his scalp warm for just a moment as his curls set. He began to undo the pins and admitted,

“When Hermione hit me, there was a not-insignificant part of me that felt I deserved it. Part of me liked it, even, because I didn’t have to hurt myself anymore if she would do it for me. Looking at the two of us going forward, I worry there will be a moment when I hate myself so much that I want her to do it again.”

“Yeah, that one’s a bit too deep for me to answer.” Dean clapped Draco on the shoulder and said, “All I know is that you will never deserve that.”

**.oOo.**

The venue itself was a beautiful cabin with a large bonfire pit in the back. Draco Apparated as soon as he finished styling his hair into loose curls with three thin braids on the left side of his head above his ear. Draco twisted one sleeve of the purple robe between his fingers. He sat by Romilda on one of the outside benches as they were the first to arrive, staring at the bonfire logs, prepped and awaiting their ceremonial light. Romilda’s breath clouded around her lips and she shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

“Tell me how this goes again?”

Draco rubbed her back in what he hoped were soothing circles.

“Bastien and Padma will come out soon with Lee Jordan. Padma will pass out smooth stones to the three of you, each with your name carved into the surface. Bastien will do the same for us. They will light the bonfire and we each give a little speech about the part of our life we are choosing to put behind us. You throw in the stone along with whatever symbol you brought with you. At the end, once it’s all burned, you’ll find your stone in the pit. If it has turned white then you’ll be married within the year.”

“WHAT?! Padma forgot to mention that bit!” She grumbled, “No pressure.”

“How is Gabriel?” asked Draco. “I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“We are slowly going mad. I haven’t thought about relapsing in a long time, but that cake tasting nearly brought me back there.”

“I understand.”

“I know.” Romilda sighed and admitted, “I told him to put his piercings back in. I couldn’t take it anymore; he looked so sad. He tried so hard to get my mum to like him and she won’t do it. She doesn’t know about the bulimia, so she thinks I just fell into the arms of the first older man who looked at me right. When Gabe is the _only_ person I trusted to take me to all those fucking appointments. Gabe watched me vomit into a toilet and didn’t judge me for it. He _held my hair._ I can’t believe I am sitting here and I’m not married to him.”

“Well—”

“Padma proposed to Bastien less than four months ago and we’re at their fucking wedding! Gabe asked me to marry him _ten months ago_ and I won’t get married for another three months!” Romilda looked at Draco and asked, “What the hell am I doing?”

“I think you are focusing too much on what everyone else expects of you. If it’s your wedding, it should be what and when you want.”

Romilda nodded.

“James asks about you.”

Draco grinned and asked, “He does?”

“He does.”

“I really like him.”

“James is a good man, you know. If I didn’t know how much Hermione cares for you, I would tell you to go for it.” Romilda looped her arm through Draco’s and revealed, “She’s told us all there is no one else for her. You’re it.”

“That is good, considering I am entirely hers.”

Four loud pops signaled the arrival of their fellow attendees. Theo ran right over to Draco, who stood up and pulled him into a hug. Theo grumbled,

“Can’t believe Bastien is getting married.”

“At six in the morning, no less.”

Theo pulled away and grinned.

“Your hair looks amazing.”

“Thank you!” Draco smiled back. “I was a bit nervous about being here, but I feel better now.”

“You always feel better when you do your hair.”

“Someone has to keep Sleekeazy’s in business.”

Draco’s heart dropped into his stomach when he heard that voice. He took a slow breath in and turned to face the very last person he ever wanted to see.

“Weasley.”

“Malfoy.” Ron offered his hand and said, “Your hair looks nice.”

Draco tried not to let the confusion show on his face when he accepted the handshake. He noted the nice camel-coloured coat and was surprised to find it was quite a good fit for Ron Weasley. He looked good.

“You look very decent, as well.”

“Thanks.”

There was a long, awkward pause before Parvati entered the circle. She asked,

“Can we all agree this is the worst ceremony for us singles?”

Draco said, “Yes.”

At the same time, Elora Dunn appeared to say, “Wholeheartedly.”

Weasley said, “The other half of us are worried the stone _won’t_ turn white. What the bloody hell do we do, then?”

“This is the worst ceremony for everyone,” Parvati amended. “We will be doing them in order, though, one through three. Ladies first, then the men.”

_Fuck._

“I will be last, then?” asked Draco. “No pressure.”

“At least your hair looks nice,” Elora said.

Draco had always liked her. She was the type of person who could blend into their surroundings and go completely unnoticed. But once you found Elora, it was impossible to unsee her. She was effortlessly nonthreatening. Her short ginger hair was styled in a pixie cut and her eye makeup shone even through the darkness.

Three more loud pops signaled the arrival of the bride, groom, and officiant. Padma’s bright orange robes fluttered out from beneath her white coat. Bastien couldn’t take his eyes off her until Lee Jordan patted his shoulder.

“Right, yeah,” Bastien shook his head and came back into the moment. “Who’s ready to rock?!”

They all groaned in unison at the lame-ass pun. Bastien laughed and they each distributed their stones. He handed the first to Theo and said,

“I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Bastien handed the second stone to Weasley and said, “Thank you for being a great friend.”

Before he handed Draco his stone, Bastien said, “You have the strongest heart of anyone I know.” He offered Draco the final stone and said, “Thank you for being brave enough to do this. I wouldn’t have asked if you weren’t so important to me.”

Draco offered him a teary-eyed smile and said, “I know.”

Bastien nodded then turned to take Padma’s hand in his own.

“Are you ready to get this going?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s get married!”

They turned to face the bonfire, pointed their wands at the centre, and said, “ _Incendio Matrimonium!_ ”

The bonfire took hold quickly, and Lee Jordan checked his watch.

“Right, we’ll have enough time for each of you to have about six minutes. We’ll begin with the ladies, so Parvati, would you care to start?”

She stepped forward and Draco listened to each of their offerings with rapt attention. Elora’s speech was very long and emotional, so much so that Romilda took a pause before beginning her own. She offered up her watch as a reminder that they not waste time like she had with her own love. Draco’s heart ached for her and Gabriel.

“Thank you all for your moving offerings,” said Lee Jordan, “Padma chose well. Now, Mr. Nott, if you would like to go ahead, we are at your behest.”

Theo shrugged. If there was one thing Draco loved about Theo more than anything, it was his practicality. He wasn’t much for emotions except when it came to Tracey and the twins. See a task, accomplish it, and move onto the next. It made him a great inventor, but not so great an orator. His speech was short and evened out the extra time Elora had taken.

Ron Weasley stepped forward a bit, appearing to grapple with the weight of the moment and the words he was about to say.

“When I was seventeen I made a massive mistake that I think about every day. My friends and I were on the run, hunted like so many of us were. After months of camping, hiding out, and making no progress, I gave up on them. I didn’t believe in them anymore. The two people in my life who always seemed to have the answers had finally run out of them. We were lost, only I didn’t have to be. So I left them.”

Weasley rubbed anxiously at the collar of his coat.

“After a couple days, I realized my mistake. My family hated me for abandoning them, but I knew I had done the right thing for myself. I couldn’t sit there and watch them struggle anymore while being unable to help them. I’d never felt so goddamn useless. But in his will, Professor Dumbledore left me this.” Weasley pulled a silver rectangle out of his pocket and bustled it around a bit in his open palm. “It’s called a Deluminator, meant to take the lights out and put them back wherever they are needed. This is what eventually led me back to them.”

He closed his fingers around the Deluminator and looked up at the bonfire.

“In all the time I’ve known them, Harry and Hermione have been the foundation for whatever it is I’ve done. Without them, I’m just me. Not that being me alone is a bad thing, but it’s lesser, in a way. Now I fear they are suffering consequences of the war in a way that we can’t see. My scars are all on the outside, but they were torn apart inside, too. Now it is my turn to be the rock-solid one. I don’t need to have all the answers, but I need to be there for both of them the way they have always been there for me.

“Bastien, Padma, I am offering up the Deluminator for you as a symbol of patience and fortitude. Be there for each other in your times of need, and own up to it when you make a mistake. Always be sure to see the light in each other. I wish you both nothing but immense happiness together.”

Weasley tossed the Deluminator into the flames along with his stone. Draco’s hands shook a bit, as he realized it was his turn and he had to follow _that._

Bastard.

Draco took a small step forward and slowly made eye contact with everyone individually.

“I believe you all know the struggle I have had the past two years.” He paused before amending, “The past twelve years. I hated myself for so long because I was unable to be the man everyone expected me to be. Everyone I knew hurt me in one way or another, so I took hit after hit and pretended it was alright even as the people who were meant to protect me hurt me the most.”

He turned to face the bonfire as Astoria’s voice rang inside his head yet again.

“I was killing myself from the inside-out, and I was happy to do it. Only once my hair began to fall out did I take it seriously, and even then I only had a small bit of hope. I kept all this pain inside for so long because I was never good enough for anyone. Too androgynous for my father, too broken for my first lovers, and too bisexual to be the proper Malfoy heir. I was too different to be considered a proper anything. When people called me a whore, I believed them. And when people say I am not good enough for the woman I love, I believe them. For so long I have allowed the opinions of others to define my worth and I think it has to stop.”

Draco held out the purple robe and watched it sparkle in the light of the fire.

“This was my favourite robe, and also one of my smallest. At my lowest weight I was the same size I was at sixteen, when I was four inches shorter. I took pride in being thin because it was the one thing I could control about my life. It was not until one sensational woman found enough good in me that I had no choice but to see it in myself. She saw everything about me and found it worthwhile. She looked at who I am and said, ‘This has value. You do not need to prove yourself to me.’ Only then did I realize I have nothing to prove to myself.”

Draco ran his thumb across the top of the stone, filling the soft indentations of his name.

“I offer this robe to you as a symbol of self-love and fulfillment. It is easy to see the good in each other, but never forget to see the value in yourselves. You deserve every bit of this happiness.”

He wrapped the stone inside the robe and tossed it into the flames. Relief immediately flooded him and Theo was there to wrap an arm around his shoulders, keep him upright. Lee Jordan stepped forward again and gestured to the bonfire.

“Thank you all for your poignant, expressive offerings this morning. With three minutes left to full sunrise, I believe it is time for Bastien and Pamda to accept them.”

He led everyone to the bonfire and motioned for them to stand in a circle around it. Bastien and Padma locked their hands once again as Lee Jordan asked,

“Do you accept these offerings from your closest friends, believing them all to be in good faith?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

The flames turned pure white, a glow so bright everyone had to look away. Draco shielded his eyes with his arm, but just as quickly as it transformed the flames were gone. Only a few charred sticks remained inside the circle. Everyone glanced down to see their own rocks resting at their feet. Romilda grimaced down at her white rock as if it was taunting her. Weasley and Theo were satisfied with their white rocks, while Draco was overcome with relief at the sight of his having been unchanged. He caught Parvati’s gaze and she winked at him, her own rock still blessedly unmarred. The only surprise was the white rock at Elora’s feet, and she seemed shocked but not disappointed.

At the centre of the marred pit were two white rings. Lee Jordan motioned for Bastien and Padma to follow him into the circle as the first rays of the sun began to peek above the horizon. He bent to pick up the rings and offered them to the proper recipient.

“Samhain is a time of cleansing and new beginnings. As you embark on this journey of matrimony together, take each of these offerings to heart. Your union has been blessed by your closest friends, the people you have chosen to be with you through life.” He addressed the crowd by saying, “Bastien and Padma have offered their own vows in a private ceremony, and will repeat the traditional vows now.”

The sunlight cast a warm glow on Bastien’s face as he couldn’t hide his smile. He took Padma’s left hand and awaited instruction.

“Bastien, repeat after me. Today, I take my place as your husband.”

“Today, I take my place as your husband.”

“May our relationship be blessed with many years of love and respect.”

“May our relationship be blessed with many years of love and respect.”

“Today the veil between our world and the beyond has thinned, and I vow to live my life on either side with you in my heart.”

Bastien repeated it as the sun continued to rise and cast everything in a pinkish-orange glow.

“You have my everlasting friendship and the promise of all my tomorrows.”

“Padma Patil, you have my everlasting friendship and the promise of all my tomorrows.”

Lee Jordan asked, “Padma, do you take Bastien Queensbury as your husband?”

She grinned and said, “I do,” as Bastien slid the ring onto her finger. “Can I do this all in one go for him? I think I have it.”

“Proceed.”

Padma looked up at Bastien and Draco briefly wondered if he was capable of experiencing that amount of love for a single person. He’d always known Bastien was committed to Padma, but seeing that reflected back was the best Draco could have hoped for him.

“Today, I take my place as your wife. May our relationship be blessed with many years of love and respect. Today the veil between our world and the beyond has thinned, and I vow to live my life on either side with you in my heart. You have my everlasting friendship and the promise of all my tomorrows.”

Lee Jordan asked, “Bastien, do you take Padma Patil as your wife?”

“I do,” he insisted, “I do _so much_.”

Padma slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand and smiled. Lee Jordan stepped back and said,

“I now pronounce you two joined in blessed matrimony. You may kiss.”

Their small crowd clapped as Padma stood on her toes to place a gentle kiss against Bastien’s lips. As everyone made their way inside to the ceremonial breakfast table, Weasley pulled Draco back a bit and waited to speak until everyone was out of range. Draco looked up at him and sighed,

“I hate that you’re taller than me.”

“Yeah, well I hate that my ex-wife’s in love with you, but here we are.”

Draco chuckled low in his throat.

“Anyhow, Harry told me what you did for him.”

“Did he, now?”

“We have all been so worried, especially Gin. He was in a bad way, but you helped him take that first step and he’s already a bit more hopeful. You fucking did that for him, and I never in a thousand years would have believed you’d do something like that.”

Draco shrugged and admitted, “It is a fairly new development.”

Something dark crossed Ron Weasley’s features as he placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco couldn’t quite say why he didn’t shove him off, but it felt like whatever was coming was something that needed to be said.

“I know Alicia and I pushed you too far last year. I was one of those people who believed you were an entitled whore, unworthy of Hermione’s company. Much less her heart. Now I see that I was wrong, and I am sorry.”

Draco frowned.

“You are apologizing to me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then I accept.”

“Thank you.”

Before he turned to leave, Draco said, “I love her with everything I have.”

Weasley nodded.

“Strange as it is, I believe you.”


	50. What Made Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally confronts his father. Harry finally goes to therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it says published on January 3rd, but it's only 11:05 so I technically, *barely* met my Saturday deadline. Chapter takes place November 4th - 7th, 2008. 
> 
> TW: Potentially Transphobic Comments (Lucius Malfoy says some things that are offensive. Very minor, but it's there.)  
> TW: References to Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: Biphobia

Draco’s friends were married.

Everyone he met seemed to be married. It was like walking into Honeydukes with a group of people, but Draco was the only one without money. All he could do was look and hope that one day he would have enough for whatever he wanted. He made it through Saturday without incident, but by the time Sunday came around he couldn’t even get out of his pyjamas. On Monday he woke up to Blaise whacking him in the face with a pillow.

“OW!”

“It is _eleven!_ ”

“Is it?” Draco asked through a yawn. “Thought it was the fourth.”

“Very funny.”

“I only have a few days left here, and this bed and I have become such good friends.” Draco spread his arms out wide and flopped onto his back. “Need to spend some quality time before I leave.”

“You are not going to spend the next three days wanking in here.”

“Not what I meant. Also, not a bad idea.”

“Dean and I are going out for lunch. Would you like to come with us?”

“Sure.” Draco squinted against the light and asked, “Can I stop by the manor first?”

Blaise plopped onto the bed next to him and asked, “Why?”

“I need to speak to my father. I keep thinking, if Ron Weasley can accept my relationship with Hermione, why can’t he?”

“Because your father is a terrible person.”

Draco admitted, “I need more of an answer than that. I need him to tell me where I have gone wrong. Why he feels Hermione is ‘above me.’” He rolled onto his side to face Blaise. “He said that to me and I don’t know what it means.”

“It means she is powerful, which is the only thing that has ever mattered to your father.” Blaise closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. “Your parents loved me until we dated, then they acted as if I was a Troll. When we broke up, they loved me again. It is always about utile value with them, and you have found someone with power.”

“Do you think it would be enough to convince them to let me marry her?”

Blaise rolled onto his side so he and Draco were eye-to-eye.

“Does she want that?”

Draco nodded.

“We’ve both said that is our goal, but we have to take the time to get there.”

“You have to be happy with yourselves before you are happy with each other.”

“I still worry whatever version of me comes out of this won’t be right for her. Am I right for what she wants to do with her life?”

Blaise wondered, “Does Hermione know what she wants to do with her life?”

“She wants to be Minister, obviously.”

“And yet, she is not happy. Perhaps what Hermione wants is not what she has always believed it is.” Blaise tucked some of Draco’s hair behind his ear. “You are so much better than you were this time last year. I know you do not see it, but you wear it well. You stand straighter, you smile more, and you are so much stronger now. As your best friend, I am so proud of you.”

Draco grinned.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Blaise glanced away and added, “But you should really brush your teeth, your morning breath is rancid.”

Draco opened his mouth wide and leaned in closer to shout, “SORRY, WHAT WAS THAT?” 

Blaise laughed and shoved him back before jumping out of the bed.

“You are disgusting.”

Draco padded toward the bathroom and said, “I will meet you and Dean for lunch at noon, alright?”

Before he left, Blaise cautioned, “Do not take everything your father says to heart.”

**.oOo.**

Draco Apparated onto the front steps of Malfoy Manor fifteen minutes later. It still felt invasive to go inside without an invitation. Narcissa Malfoy answered the door and immediately pulled Draco into a hug.

“My son!” Her arms were tight around his waist. “You have come home early!”

“No,” Draco wriggled free of her grasp, “I am only here for a few moments, to clear my head a bit.”

“Of course,” she replied, “whatever you need.”

“Is father here?”

Narcissa’s face fell and she stepped away.

“You are here to see him?”

Draco nodded as the front door shut with a commanding thunk. 

“Then do what you must, my son, but be gentle with him. Your extended absence has been difficult for both of us.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“See for yourself, then.” Narcissa nodded toward the door Draco remembered from his previous visit. “He is in the study.”

When Draco walked inside, his father didn’t look up. He fussed about with some parchment and said, 

“You are not meant to be here for another hour.”

“You were expecting me?”

Lucius Malfoy looked up and Draco nearly jumped out of his own skin. His father’s hair was, for lack of a better word, a mess. As though he had run his fingers through it many times, tugged on the roots, and given up hope of controlling it. His glasses slid down his nose and he looked older than Draco remembered from his last visit. Perhaps the thought of Draco’s return aged him in a more visible way.

“I was expecting Tracey Nott, as we are meant to be dealing with some estate minutiae. What are you doing here?”

“Well, good morning to you, too,” snapped Draco.

“You are not meant to return until Saturday.”

“I am popping by for a chat, if you will allow it.”

“Certainly.” He nodded to the chairs in front of his desk and insisted, “Sit.”

Draco obliged and crossed one leg over the other. He hardly knew where to begin.

He asked, “Do you want me to return?”

“Of course I want you here. I only worry it may provoke a negative reaction in you, or cause you to do something drastic. Your mother and I are not quite sure how to ensure your comfort here in the manor. We are trying, but there is no way to know for certain so I keep trying to find every solution I can.”

“I appreciate your concern, but if there is anything else that needs to be fixed I will do it myself.”

“Then to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I am curious about the expectations you may have of me, and of my life here at the manor once I return.”

“You have made it quite clear that my expectations for your life are irrelevant.”

“Fine, then, I do have one question you can answer. When you say Hermione is ‘above me’ what does that mean?”

“She is more intelligent and more powerful than you are.”

Draco picked at something underneath his fingernail and asked, “Is that all?”

“Well, yes. The Granger girl is Muggle-born, previously wed, divorced, and you were abused by her. I would say these are the things that give me pause, except she had enough mind to escape the Weasley clan therefore I do not fault her divorce. You have also never expressed interest in telling me how she hurt you.”

“You never expressed interest in hearing about it.”

Lucius Malfoy pushed all the papers into the centre of the desk, picked them up, then placed them in a drawer. He folded his hands atop the desk.

“Do you wish to tell me about it now?”

What did Draco stand to lose? Perhaps his father should know. Maybe it would give him a better understanding of why Draco was willing to give his relationship with Hermione another go.

“She lost control of her magic when I told her I relapsed. It threw a law compendium at my face, bruised my eye and broke my nose. Nothing a quick spell couldn’t fix there, but my eye did not heal for a few days. That set off a chain reaction of things that landed me in a dark place.”

“How am I to believe she will not become violent with you again?”

Draco turned the question over in his mind. While he knew in his heart Hermione had no intention of hurting him again, it was a valid question. One he should not be upset to answer.

“She is in therapy like I am. Hermione is trying very hard to be better and I made a promise to support her through this, so I will.”

“I will not stand in the way of that.”

Draco asked, “Would you stand in the way of our marriage?”

“I cannot know for certain, but I know that you care for the Granger girl very deeply. Malfoy men do tend to marry up.”

“You did not answer the question.”

Lucius sighed and said, “You just told me this woman abused you in a moment of vulnerability, so naturally—”

“As if she is the only person to have done that to me!” snapped Draco. “Do you have any idea what the Dark Lord did to me while you were in prison, father? He tortured me and neither you nor mother could stop it, so do not dare to judge Hermione for hurting me.”

His father conceded, “I understand.”

“How could you? I took hit after hit for ten years. The Dark Lord tortured me and when that was over the Wizengamot dredged up every bad thing I ever did for the world to see. Then when I tried to cope with it all by falling into the arms of anyone who made me feel slightly less than execrable, there was headline after headline in the papers making me out to be a whore. I pushed Gabrielle away, even though our life would have been so happy together. I was so broken that I hurt everyone who tried to love me. Blaise held all that guilt inside for years. Astoria became a person she didn’t like only because she could not figure out how to love me properly. I loved Hermione Granger so hard that I broke her spirit, father. She fell in love with me and it backfired to such an extent that she is terrified of her own power. That is what I bring to people, _that is what you made me!_ ”

Lucius Malfoy took off his glasses and gently folded them before placing them off to the side of the desk. He ran a hand through his hair and Draco hated seeing himself reflected so plainly in his father. Lucius looked different, though, like for once he had no idea what to say.

“I like to look nice.” Draco crossed his arms and said, “I like to do my hair, but I never felt comfortable doing it because you said it was too effeminate for a proper Malfoy man. I like to have sex with men, but somehow _that_ is not manly, either. There was no way for me to be myself and earn your approval, when that is the only thing I have ever wanted.” He laughed. “The more I learn about who I really am, the more terrified I become of disappointing you. Even now, I hate you so much but cannot bring myself to force you out of this house because I still want you to love me.”

“You do not believe I understand what you are trying to tell me, but I do.” Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the centre of his desk, eyes glossing over. “Narcissa and I expected everything of you and wanted everything _for_ you. Then I became distracted by everything you were not. When the Dark Lord returned I was even more absent and I should not have been. I am sorry for that.”

Draco felt the apology was genuine, but there was nothing he could do with it.

“I wanted you to be like me. When you were not, it was a failure reflected at me. I do not understand you, Draco, and I recognize that I never will. But one day you will marry the Granger girl and have a son of your own and I know you will not make my mistakes.”

Lucius took a deep breath and shook his head, visibly startled.

“I hope you never fail your son to such an extent that he waits ten years to admit he is ill. My father always wanted me to fear him, but I never wanted that life for you. Your Aunt Bella and I taught you to hide yourself away, but I thought after the war it would fade with time. I never realized you continued to bury yourself deeper and deeper underneath all the pain and whoring yourself out to anyone who would touch you. After Astoria, your mother and I thought you were afraid of commitment, rebelling in your own way against the expectations we had set. Only once you left for France did we realize you were trying, against everything you wanted for yourself, to meet them.”

Draco added, “I did not sleep with as many people as the papers made it out to be.”

“How were your mother and I to know?”

“Well you never asked!”

“How was I meant to ask my son about the men he was fucking?!” shouted Lucius. “You made this an untenable situation for us!”

“ALL I AM IS WHAT YOU MADE ME!”

Lucius clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Yes, Draco. Yes, you were just what I made you.”

Draco wiped tears from his eyes and asked, “Why couldn’t you just let me be who I was?”

“Because I believed my job as your parent was to make sure you understood your purpose in continuing the Malfoy bloodline. The men could not be part of that, so we pushed you in the wrong directions.”

“What’s changed, then?” Draco wiped snot from beneath his nose. This wasn’t the conversation he intended to have. He had not prepared for this. “Is it because Hermione is a woman and meets the minimum criteria?”

“No, my son, it is because you love her. As a father, the worst thing that can ever happen to you is to watch your child try to starve himself because he is starved for everything else. You were only searching for balance, Draco, I understand that, now. 

“I thought we were so lucky because you survived the war, unlike so many others. So many of our friends had to bury their children, but _my son_ was a survivor. _My son_ avoided Azkaban, _my son_ lived on. I was so proud of that and it made me blind to your suffering. You may have survived the war, but you have been burying yourself ever since. I lost my son long ago, and in that sense I have failed my one job as a Malfoy and as a father.”

“I didn’t want to survive,” sobbed Draco, tears streaming down his face. “I wanted to go to Azkaban, I wanted to die because being forgotten was better than walking back out into the world as a traitor to both sides.” 

“If I had made this more of a home for you, if I had supported you then perhaps we could have avoided that. I have been a terrible father to you. I am sorry for that, and I only hope that you believe me when I say you look wonderful. You do have my face, after all. You are your mother’s son more than you have ever been mine, and I never understood what that meant. I saw you doing your hair and having sex with men, wondering whether I somehow raised a daughter instead of a son.” He swallowed thickly and admitted, “I cared so much about you fulfilling one responsibility that I neglected to see everything else. I did not see it until Blaise came to pick up your things and move you into his house, telling us you were suicidal and the manor only made things more difficult for you. Then your mother and I wondered, would we have to ...” Lucius choked on a low sob. “Would we have to pick out a coffin for our only son? Had we failed you so terribly?”

Lucius wiped his eyes and finally met Draco’s gaze.

“For the first time in well over a decade, I can see happiness in your eyes. There may not be a lot of it, but it is there. I know you see happiness in your future and I will not do anything to keep you from it. I will do anything in my power to keep you alive.”

That was too good to be true.

“But now I sit here and wonder, do you care for this girl because you love her? Or do you care because she hurt you and you believe you deserve it? It is my fear that you care for her because she is capable of hurting you when you do not want to hurt yourself. You are clearly working hard to get yourself well, my son. I do not want you to lose that.”

Draco admitted, “I don’t know the answer.”

“You can do whatever makes you happy, Draco. I do not care about what happens in your future, as long as you have a happy one. If the Granger girl makes you feel the way Narcissa makes me feel, then marry her. You are as much of a Malfoy as you choose to be, the only thing I want for you is to be Draco. Be _happy._ ”

“I don’t know how to do that, father.” Draco shrugged and repeated, “I just don’t know.”

“Then take the time to learn.”

**.oOo.**

Potter was pacing outside the steps when Draco arrived at Clearwater & Patil for his next appointment. Draco stood back and watched him fret about; a large crossbody bag bounced against his hip with each step. Potter looked better than he had the last time Draco had seen him. His hair had been tamed, at least. He jumped when he spotted Draco.

“Hi.”

“Nervous?” Draco asked. 

Potter nodded and Draco patted his arm. 

He wondered, “Is there a dress code? I didn’t know what to wear, is it casual or is this, you know, an _occasion_?”

“We are going to therapy, Potter, not the Ministry.”

“I know, I know, but ...” He swallowed thickly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “This is scarier than I thought it would be. I’ve done loads of things more terrifying than this, so why am I shaking?”

“Because asking for help is one of the hardest things we have to do.”

Draco walked up the stairs and opened the door as Potter exhaled audibly behind him. Penelope appeared before Lila could even greet them. 

Strange. 

She nodded for both of them to follow her down the hall and, for the briefest moment, Draco wondered whether this had been an awful idea. It didn’t matter much, though, as fifteen seconds later he was sitting in his usual chair with Potter at his left.

Harry Potter glanced around the office, his fingers gripping both arms of the chair.

“Shouldn’t there be a sofa?”

“Padma has one,” Penelope answered, “but I don’t consider them very useful. I find eye contact is pivotal to patients’ progress and we have a problem if they are staring at the ceiling. Now, Mr. Potter, I am delighted to have you observe the session.” Penelope sat in her chair behind the table, and her demeanor was more polished than the colloquial air that had developed since their first session nearly two years earlier. “Has Draco discussed his condition with you?”

“Briefly, yeah, when we were filling out my application.”

“He has what we call—”

“Anorexia,” Potter replied before Penelope could finish, “I know.”

“I knew it!” Draco turned to Penelope and confirmed, “Did I not tell you that he knew?”

“Well that frees up several minutes of time I no longer have to spend outlining the basics. I suppose that means we can begin.”

Potter pulled an Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and insisted, “You won’t even know I’m here.” He wrapped it around himself until Draco saw nothing but Penelope’s office wall, looking straight through where he knew Potter to be sitting.

“Huh.” Penelope nodded to herself. “An interesting solution.”

“Potter is full of surprises.”

“You can’t see it,” replied Harry, “but I am giving you a two-fingered salute right now.”

Penelope quickly picked up her quill and asked, “How was the wedding?”

“Good.”

There was a long, silent pause. Ink dripped off the nib of Penelope’s quill as an anxious expression flashed across her features. It seemed she, too, was worried this had been a mistake. Draco glanced over at the empty chair and, really, what was there to lose? Could Potter possibly think any less of him?

“Better, at least. This wedding was better than the last one.”

“Why?”

“I was happy for Bastien, and it didn’t make me feel lesser for not having what he has.” Draco frowned and added, “It’s what everyone else in my life seems to have. I was there because I was happy for him, and proud that he’s landed someone as great as Padma. I chose to focus on that instead of what I don’t have for myself.”

“That’s good.”

“Ron Weasley was there, as well, and we got on this time. Nice change of pace, actually, since he was the biggest obstacle between me and Hermione. I know if it came down to it, I could never ask Hermione to give up her friends for my sake. Weasley made it so she wouldn’t have to choose again, and I appreciate that.”

Penelope scribbled more notes and said, “Padma mentioned there was breakfast.”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed, “and it was awful having to eat in front of so many people. But I did it.”

“That is great!” Penelope smiled. “Truly, that is great progress, Draco.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else you need to tell me about this week?”

Draco sat up straight and said, “I think my father and I are in a better place.”

“You think?”

“We had a quite somber conversation, but I have learned over the past twenty-eight years to question everything he says. I don’t trust him, but I believe in this instance he was being truthful.”

Penelope asked, “Why do you think so?”

“It was the most vulnerable he has ever been with me. He said things that make sense, things that explain why his expectations of me have shifted.”

“What reason did he give?”

“Apparently, as a parent, if you child would rather kill themself than live the life you laid out for them, it means you have failed. I think he looked at me and saw his face, but a bastardized version of himself. I do something traditional but take it too far. For example, my father cares for his hair but he rarely expends time styling it. Or, I have sex with women and that’s fine, but having sex with men is going too far. My father wanted me to be him and I failed at every turn. Looking back, though, I know he meant what he said.”

“And that was ...?”

Draco glanced over at the deceptively empty chair before revealing, “He gave me his blessing to marry Hermione, if that time should come.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” asked Penelope. “If you two are as committed as you say you are, why do you doubt that future will come to pass?”

“Even though I am making progress, there are so many moments when I don’t believe it. So I am learning to like things about myself. I like doing my hair, I enjoy clothes, and I think men are attractive. All of that is okay. These things don’t make me less of a man, and they do not make me less of a person.”

“I want to stop on that point before you go on. You don’t quite know how to look at your bisexuality and it makes it difficult to accept the parts of you that are less traditionally masculine, or less traditional for your family. The tension between you and your father always seems to begin there. It sounds as though both of you are confused by it. Without answers, you chose to accept it while your father pushed back.”

“Yes, of course I am confused. All of this is very confusing. I liked Gabrielle, but if she was a man I would not be attracted to him. Same with Blaise; if he was a woman I would not have been attracted to her. If I don’t understand why I feel the way I feel, how can I expect my father to understand it?”

Penelope placed her quill in the ink jar and began gesticulating wildy with her hands, more animated than Draco had ever seen her.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time. You exist in a very malleable area of attraction, and if you do not have the words to express your reality then it will continue to haunt you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alright, then I want you to think of every individual person as a gift basket.”

“A gift basket?”

“Yes, a gift basket. There is no _perfect_ gift basket; but if you like most of what’s inside then it is a good basket.”

“I think I am following you.”

“There are lots of things included in people. What’s a gift basket without a chocolate frog or two? But everyone’s combination is different. Gender is only one part of the gift basket, but for you it is a _big part_. For you, the gender gift in the basket can be a dealbreaker the same way it is for straight people. It is the giant stuffed teddy bear or the licorice dragon or whatever is presented as a big gift. Gender is important to you and it affects how you view the basket as a whole.”

Draco frowned. 

“Still following, I think.”

“There are other people who, like you, are attracted to different sexes but they do not consider gender an important part of the basket. Gender can be considered nothing more than the wrapping, to be observed and then discarded. Maybe it is a small gift inside the basket. But for you, Draco, gender is a defining part of anyone’s basket.”

He let his head fall into his hands and groaned.

“It shouldn’t be this complicated.”

Penelope insisted, “It’s not complicated at all. Gender matters to you and there is nothing wrong with that.”

“Then why am I not straight, Penelope?! Why am I like this when it would be so much easier if I wasn’t?!”

“Because not everyone can see their sexuality as clearly as you do. You accepted this part of yourself at an early age, and the world has tried to rip it away by convincing you that loving both men and women makes you a whore. That is impressive, Draco, refusing to deny yourself when the world demanded it of you. If you wanted to be straight then you would have begun pretending a long time ago. Take this as a win for yourself.”

He nodded.

“Okay.”

Penelope picked up her quill and asked, “Where were we?”

“I can hardly remember.”

“I believe you were explaining why you don’t have much confidence in the future you and Hermione have planned for yourselves.”

“Ah.” Draco slumped backward in his seat. “Right.”

“You said it would be a long answer.”

“I liked when she hurt me; that’s the short answer. I felt I deserved to be punished for keeping my struggles a secret, for trying to do it all on my own. Part of me believed that her hitting me was justified. I am terrified that I can’t get better, that I will always be like this. No matter how much of the outward things I learn to like, deep down I am a terrible, broken person. I don’t think there is any fixing it. Maybe I am pursuing a future with Hermione because I know she can hurt me when I want her to.”

“Would you ever ask her to hurt you?”

“No!” Draco shook his head and insisted, “No, of course not. But if she did—”

“Do you believe she would?”

“Well, no, I don’t.”

“Then I don’t think Hermione is the problem.” Penelope wondered, “How do you believe you are broken?”

“Everything about me feels wrong.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows and asked, “Does it, though?”

“I just told you—”

“Making your hair look nice, enjoying the shops, and being bisexual are not flaws, Draco. Those things do not mean you are broken.”

“I am terrified of food, for starters.”

“But you eat at regular intervals, now.”

“Only because I have to. I do not like doing it.”

“You have proven that you are capable of doing it. You go out to run because it makes you feel good, not because you feel you need to earn your food. In fact, you are finally at a place where you recognize you need food to run and not the other way around.” Penelope paused her notetaking and looked up at Draco to ask, “What are you truly afraid of?”

“I am afraid that no one can love me!” he shouted back. “Hermione is the only person I have ever loved like this, and it broke her apart! The most powerful person in the world and I am the first person to make her doubt it. There is so much darkness inside of me that everyone I let in gets lost. I knew I was ill and that was why I pushed Gabrielle away. I kept Blaise at arm’s length because I could not love him the way he deserved. When Astoria tried to fix me, she saw the darkness and had to pull away. I am a fucking plague to anyone who has ever tried to love me, and the only reason my parents are still in my life is because they never succeeded.” He tossed his hands in the air and said, “So that’s it then. That is what I am afraid of.”

Penelope nodded.

“May I tell you why you’re wrong?”

“Please.”

“Gabrielle Delacour cares enough about you to keep you in her life, and that says a lot about the sort of person she believes you are. If you believe she is a kind person, then I think at least part of that needs to be reflected in you.”

“Gabrielle is an outlier.”

“Blaise Zabini is still in your life. Hermione Granger is still in your life, she loves you and evidently wants to marry you. Given all of that, I would say that Astoria Greengrass is the outlier.”

“Then what does that mean?”

“Only you can know for sure, Draco, but my guess is what you believed to be darkness has only ever been pain. Everyone who was close to you either overlooked that pain, or tried and failed to work through it. Hermione saw the most intimate parts of you and, even with all the pain you both fight through every day, she has chosen to commit to you. Everyone in your life has proven they will be there for you when you finally move forward. You have been supporting their happiness for so long, it sounds like they will welcome the opportunity for you to find your own.”

Draco frowned. He laced his fingers together and thought about it for awhile. His friends would absolutely be there for him, but if the problem wasn’t an inherent darkness inside of him, if he wasn’t a horrible person, then ... Why had he done any of this to himself?

“All of this has been my fault.” He shook his head and asked, “Have I trapped myself in this?”

“You are still trying to blame yourself, and you need to stop. Your trauma is real and it hurts, and it is _not_ your fault.”

Draco dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned, “My head hurts.” 

“Well, our time is nearly done. Would you prefer if we took the last five minutes for Mr. Potter to ask questions?”

“Go for it.” Draco leaned back in his chair and admitted, “I don’t think I can process much more today.”

Potter let the cloak fall to his waist and adjusted his glasses.

“Erm, I don’t really know if I have any good questions.”

Penelope replied, “Even the simplest questions can have helpful answers.”

“Well then, is this what it’s like all the time?” he asked. “You just sit here and chat about the worst parts of Malfoy’s life?”

“Yes,” replied Draco, “basically.”

Penelope shot him a quick, searing glance before returning her attention to Harry Potter.

“At the beginning we went through Draco’s history. We discussed things in his past that caused trauma to manifest in this particular way. Over time, we set goals and boundaries, focusing on how current events in his life were affecting his ability to improve. You may not be able to tell, but this was quite a groundbreaking day.”

Draco didn’t turn to look, but he felt Potter’s gaze.

“I can see that much for myself. Parvati speaks highly of you, but I never knew what you could do.”

“It helps that Draco is remarkably self-aware. Most of my clients do not progress so quickly.”

Draco laughed.

“Two years is a quick recovery?”

“Minus the three months you ran away, this is more like a year-and-a-half,” Penelope reminded him. “And yes, with someone for a decade of war-related trauma, you have made remarkable strides in less than two years. However, Mr. Potter, we are bringing in a specialist from America to help you.”

Harry nodded and said, “The woman at the front desk, the one with the purple hair? She mentioned that, but I don’t quite know how to feel about it. If you can help Malfoy, why can’t you help me?”

“Because you suffer from very different things.” Penelope placed her quill in the ink jar, startled, almost as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Parvati has offered to sit in on your early sessions, if that would be more comfortable.”

“Could you do it?”

“If you would prefer me to sit in, yes, I will.”

“It’s just that ...” Potter shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “She knows me, you know? I don’t want her to hear about all the things I think, all the things that happened to me. Then she has to show up at dinner like nothing happened? It’s not possible and I don’t want to ruin our friendship like that. I don’t want to turn her into my therapist but I’m also scared out of my mind.”

**.oOo.**

Both of them stood outside after that session, looking up at the blue door. There was so much to process, and he hadn’t even been able to speak about the impending move. Without looking over at Draco, Harry asked,

“D’you want to get drunk?”

“Yeah.” Draco said, “That is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that hit you in the honey nut feelios. Next chapter is planned for Wednesday; we'll see if I can make two deadlines in a row.


	51. The Quiet Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is nestled somewhere in the quiet moments between the noise of recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for deviating from my update schedule, but there was a bit of a coup. Will try to stick to having something up by Wednesday. My brain is still pretty frazzled, so this one's not exactly my best work. Again, really hoping to be back on track soon. No TWs for this chapter and, whoo, has it been awhile since we've had one of those. 
> 
> Also, I can't seem to load FFN on any browser so y'all are getting it first. Will post over there as soon as it's available to me.

“You could stay.”

Dean managed to keep himself together but Blaise was teary-eyed as Draco packed his bags, no longer the extended houseguest. They left him alone for a moment and Draco walked into the bathroom just to stand there. He ran his fingers along the edge of the mirror, recalling all the mornings he could hardly look at himself. Difficult as every day had been, things had changed for the better. As he looked at his reflection, Draco thought it was better. His face was softer, his eyes were brighter, and his hair was much longer. 

It was good.

Back in the bedroom, he stared at the place where he fell apart eleven months earlier. Then again, Draco had to tear down before he could rebuild. All those days and weeks when he could barely get himself out of bed, couldn’t bring himself to eat? Those days were behind him.

Downstairs, Blaise and Dean waited for him at the front door. Dean grinned and gave him a hug.

“Feels like I’m a mum sending my boy off to uni.”

Draco laughed.

“I’ll make you proud, mum.” He turned to Blaise. “And dad!”

“I will miss you so much.” Blaise threw himself at Draco in a desperate hug. “This year has been wonderful, I love having you around.”

Draco held him and replied, “Think of all the places you can have sex now that I am gone.”

“So much furniture left to defile. You know you always have a room here.”

“I know. Best I get back to my life, though, I have put it on hold long enough.”

“You are ready,” said Blaise. “I believe in you.”

**.oOo.**

“Welcome home.”

Malfoy Manor was unrecognizable. It had been gutted, the floorplan completely rearranged except for the ballroom. It had been pulled from the seventeenth century into the modern world. The moment he walked through the door, bags in hand, Malfoy Manor felt like home. Draco couldn’t explain the feeling, other than it felt right.

It felt like he belonged.

Narcissa showed Draco to his bedroom, upstairs and on the left. It was, in a word, _massive._ The bedroom and accompanying sitting room were its own suite. There were separate bathrooms and dressing rooms, along with a smaller suite off to the left of theirs. When Draco asked why they had gone to all the trouble, his mother spared no truth.

“Tracey Nott and that Hedgeflower woman decided to build a suite where you would enjoy spending your time, and I would be lying if I said I am not a bit envious. This is a marvelous room, my son. My only input on the house was that you and the Granger girl should have separate bathrooms. Trust me, it has saved your father and I many arguments.”

Draco’s heart sank a bit.

“You know, there is no guarantee Hermione and I will work out. All of our work could be for nothing.”

Narcissa placed both her hands on Draco’s shoulders.

“You told me once that you could light a candle for this girl. Does that remain true?”

Draco nodded.

“Then you will always love her. She will always look at you and remember her worst mistake. You will remind her that power can hurt just as quickly as it can heal. You are a strong, resilient, gorgeous man, Draco Malfoy. The Granger girl knows that, and she would be a fool not to want you. If she has come to you a second time, if she has bettered herself just to spend life at your side, then I don’t believe there will be anyone who can keep the two of you apart. There have been so many moments in this life when I could not protect you, when I watched you go through unimaginable pain. All I want for you is a happy life, and I believe she will give it to you.”

“Thank you, mother.” He gave her a weary smile and asked, “What is the next suite for?”

“Whatever you wish.” She dropped her hold on him and added, “It could be a nursery.”

Draco laughed.

“They really planned for my life, didn’t they?”

“They planned for what you deserve.”

“This is what I always imagined for myself,” Draco admitted, “but I never knew I could have it here.”

“Well, as you continue to remind us, it is your house.” Narcissa smiled. “Now, when do you plan to bring the Granger girl over for dinner? We need a proper introduction to her and her parents before the two of you are engaged.”

Draco’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“We are so far away from that, mother, I don’t know when it would be appropriate.”

“Of course, but ... Please keep it in mind. We would like to keep to _some_ tradition, if possible.”

**.oOo.**

Draco met Hermione out front of Clearwater & Patil on Monday. She wore high-waisted trousers and a high-necked blouse that clung to her tits and Draco glanced down more than once. Her hair was slicked back again, and he did not have the heart to tell her how much he missed her wild corkscrew curls. 

Draco had a complete schedule of Hermione on Monday, Potter on Tuesday, his own session on Thursday, and Hermione again on Friday. He chatted with Lila a bit in the waiting room. Strange, to be there and not see Penelope. Lila was dating a Muggle, a bloke just barely taller than her with blond curls judging by the photo on her desk. She was nice, and Draco wished he’d found more time to speak with her over the nearly two years he’d been attending therapy. 

He stood up immediately when Hermione walked out of the session looking defeated. Draco’s heart ached for her; he’d had more than one of those sessions. The ones that lingered for days, causing him to wonder where he went wrong and whether he was even fixable.

She looked up at Draco and asked, “Can we go for lunch?”

They ended up at the same pub he’d been in the week prior, getting sozzled with Harry Potter. He smiled at the memory, Potter admitting he was terrified of admitting certain things to himself. Even more terrified of admitting them to his wife. Draco had to take him home, laughing at his own jokes and smelling of Firewhisky.

They sat at a table in the back and Draco cast a Muffliato Charm to give them some privacy. Hermione did not say much, just picked at the basket of chips between them.

“So ...” Draco tentatively asked, “would you like to discuss it?”

Hermione frowned.

“I am afraid I will never be enough for certain things. Today’s session was very uncomfortable.”

“How so?”

“We discussed a lot of insecurities within my relationships, and it is quite uncomfortable to let someone know about them.”

“Would you like to tell me?”

“Not particularly, but perhaps I should.” Hermione twirled her glass and watched the ice chips spin. “It’s the sex, mostly.”

“Really?” asked Draco. “You always seemed so confident in yourself when we were intimate together.”

“It’s not about the way I perform, I suppose, or maybe it is. With you especially because everyone you’ve considered a serious partner is so beautiful and I can’t match up to that. So I wonder, is the sex good enough to balance that out? You’ve had sex with far more people than I have, so am I even capable of learning quick enough—”

“How many people have you slept with?” asked Draco.

“Five. The three of you I actually care about, plus the Canadian foreign minister and a Muggle bloke I met during your absence.” Hermione took a long sip from her glass then asked, “What about you?”

Draco shrugged and tried to run the numbers.

“Over two dozen, and my best guess would be around twenty-seven.”

“How am I meant to stand up to that?” asked Hermione.

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“No,” replied Hermione, “lie to me.”

“You can’t stand up to them, it’s impossible, and I have fucked so many people my dick’s fallen off.”

Hermione couldn’t hold in a chuckle before saying, “Give me the honest answer, then.”

Draco locked eyes with her and revealed, “You are the only person I want to have sex with for the rest of my life. Now, ten years from now, and even when we are old and grey and I can barely keep it up anymore. You are the first person who made me feel like I had any agency over my body, Hermione, you were not there just to use it. You saw past everything I tried to make the people in my life believe. You continue to make me feel like I deserve to be loved, and there is no one else who can stand up to that.”

Hermione did not say anything for a couple minutes. Draco nibbled anxiously on some chips, wondering if he had said too much.

“You can say things like that with such confidence, and I envy it.” Hermione pulled a chip apart with her fingers. “I have such a difficult time putting words to how I feel about you. Parvati says it is because I overthink things and ‘I love you’ is suitable enough. Then you say things like that and I wonder if you even know how much I care for you.”

“You are giving our relationship a second chance, and I think that is clue enough.”

“One day I will find a better way to show you.”

“You have shown me enough, Hermione.”

“Then,” she continued as if Draco hadn’t spoken, “there is the work situation.”

“Is something wrong at work?”

“I want to quit.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

“Right ...” Draco sipped from his own glass. “I may need a moment to process that.”

“It is quite simple, really. From the time I was eleven and found out there is a Minister for Magic, that is what I’ve wanted to be. I have spent eighteen years knowing I am meant to be Minister, but today is the first time I looked at things and realized it might not be what I want.”

Draco popped a chip into his mouth and asked, “Then what do you want?”

“How can I know? I keep losing my grip on who I am. If I don’t know who I am, then how can I know what I want?”

“Heading up the Office of International Magical Cooperation is not what you want?”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my career begging people to do what I know to be right.”

“Then politics is not for you.”

“But I want it to be.”

“You can’t change politics, Hermione, but you are fully capable of finding another way to change the world.”

Hermione smiled softly.

“I love how you see that in me, but it hurts so much. Eighteen years of planning for my life to go a certain way and now the only way to make myself happy is to let it slip through my fingers. Two decades wasted.”

“Not at all. You could be the Supreme Mugwump, a Healer, professor, whatever the bloody hell you want to be. You have no limitations except those you place upon yourself. Maybe you _are_ where you need to be.”

“How can you say that when I just told you it doesn’t make me happy?”

“Perhaps the job itself is not the problem. I always thought being in the manor was suffocating, but walking inside again was ... different. It is still Malfoy Manor, but altered.” Draco frowned. “How to say it? The house was clearly no longer my home the way it was, so I found another way to make it a place I can feel at home. If heading up the IMC does not fulfill you, then maybe the IMC itself is wrong.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The IMC hasn’t changed since before the war, it’s quite antiquated. You could try to change it if you want to dedicate yourself to that.”

“Hmm.” Hermione sipped her drink then asked, “What do you think?”

“Honestly?”

“Lie to me.”

“It’s a great choice for you.”

“Right,” she grinned, “honesty, then.”

Draco shrugged and wondered, “Does my opinion really matter?”

“Of course it matters to me.”

“Then, from my vantage point anything at the Ministry is a waste of your time. Why have you bothered to place yourself inside the department that controls universal standards for pewter cauldrons and fucks around with our delegates to the International Confederation of Wizards? If you walked into the ICF and declared yourself Supreme Mugwump, half the delegates would honour it on the spot. Being head of the IMC is impressive for a lot of people, but it is beneath you.” He grabbed another chip and said, “That’s my opinion.”

“Wow.” Hermione slumped in her seat and repeated, “Wow.”

“Perhaps I am biased since my friends have always known what they were meant to do. Blaise always wanted to be a chef and has more money than most of Europe, so he chose to do what he loves. Bastien did three years’ study in Switzerland to become an apothecary apprentice, and he will own a shop one day. Theo’s always made things, now he gets paid to make things. I was handed my business by the Wizengamot. We all sort of knew where we would end up. Your problem is that the entire world is out in front of you and you are drowning in options. The only thing you need to figure out is what you want to do with it.”

A strange expression crossed Hermione’s face for a moment, as if she was about to hold something back. She shook her head and grumbled,

“You’ll laugh at me.”

Draco promised, “I won’t.”

“It is a completely mad idea, and sort of illegal.” She paused before amending, “Very illegal.”

“Illegal, you say?” Draco smiled. “Finally, something fun!”

“It’s not that much fun, it’s quite a lot of legal work and—”

“Spit it out, Hermione!”

“I want to abolish the Statute of Secrecy.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open a bit in shock. He came back to himself in short order, but _wow._ He looked down at his hands and wondered how he could ever process that.

“It is why I wanted to become Minister,” admitted Hermione. “It’s why I wanted to be involved with the Office of International Magical Cooperation. This world has always made me feel like an outsider, but the Muggle world was the same way. One foot in, one foot out. I hate that my parents can’t tell their friends how impressive I am, how _proud_ they are of their daughter. All of it is complete rubbish and I want to fix it.”

Draco nodded.

“When I said you could change the world, you ... actually want to change the world?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” Draco hummed to himself and let his thoughts play out loud. “If you were serious about it, Gabrielle’s law firm has international partners and a Muggle law specialist. Blaise could buy the entire Italian government, Muggle and magical. I know the foreign ministers in Switzerland, Spain, Portugal, and Vietnam. Plus, I slept with one of the Japanese staffers ... I think he’s a professor now, but he definitely has pull. Pansy knows a lot of people in the Shadows, so if you need underground support you know where to go. It is not much, but that would be a start if you truly wanted to create a coalition.”

Hermione stared at him, awestruck.

“I genuinely believed you would laugh at me.”

“When I say I believe in you, Hermione, I mean it. Even discussing abolishing the statute could land you in Azkaban, but that threat lost its hold on me nine years ago. I think this is a far better use of your talents than sitting at the IMC until Kingsley Shacklebolt retires.”

“I could do both?” wondered Hermione.

“Yes, you can do both.”

“Okay.”

“Fantastic.”

They began the journey back to the Ministry in silence, hand-in-hand. Draco had missed these moments, getting to be with Hermione and no need to think about it. Perhaps happiness was nestled somewhere in the quiet moments between the noise of recovery. He grinned at the second glances and open-mouthed staring as the two of them walked through the Ministry’s atrium.

“Why are you like this?” asked Hermione. “Why do you insist on being so supportive?”

They stepped inside a lift and it took Draco a couple moments to work out a good answer. The doors shut and Hermione pressed the button for Level Four. Draco stared straight ahead and dropped his hold on Hermione’s hand.

“When you’ve been through all the shit that has happened to me, you understand the value of having the right people in your life. I want you to succeed at whatever you do because I love you, so ... that’s it, then. I love you and that’s why.”

The doors opened with a ding as Hermione asked, “Are we being completely ridiculous?”

“I don’t know what you mean, but probably yes.”

They walked into the IMC, both of them greeted Romilda, then Hermione waved her off when Romilda tried to slip a few memos into her hand. Once safely ensconced in her office, Hermione said,

“If we are in love, then what are we doing? This time last year we were in such a good place that I was hoping you would move in with me. I wanted us to progress so fast, I wanted everything with you and I know I went and ruined it, _I know_ , but I don’t want to go this slow, Draco. Padma’s always said I need to slow down, and the past few months I’ve just _stopped_. I am going mad, I want this, I want _you_ and I don’t know why I keep stopping myself. Why I keep stopping _us._ Now, instead of us having a happy life together, I am living with my parents and you are back at Malfoy Manor.” She paused. “Have I ruined everything?”

“There were a lot of words in there,” replied Draco. “You ruined Christmas last year, sure, but we were both far too broken to be where we were. If we had paid more attention when we began dating, perhaps we could have avoided the pain we went through this year. If we are going to do this again, and do it properly, then it needs to be slow.”

“Why?” whined Hermione. She tugged on Draco’s shirt and asked, “Can’t I have this one good thing?”

“It is a very soft cotton blend—”

“You know that I did not mean the shirt.” Hermione pulled Draco down into a quick kiss then pulled back to say, “Thank you for staying for me.”

“Thank you for giving us a second chance.”

“Hmm.” Hermione placed her hands on Draco’s hips and said, “I don’t think I am ready for you to go yet.”

_Yes._

_Yesyesyes._

_Let me touch you. Hold you. Feel you come undone against me._

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head.

“We are doing this slowly, remember?”

“Mhmm ...” Hermione pulled Draco’s shirt out of his trousers and said, “You know I like it slow.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat up and, damn, if it wasn’t the most inviting thing in the world. He looked down at Hermione and wondered, what was the harm in it? If they did it just the once ...

But it was never just once. It had taken ages for him to be open to intimacy with her the first time, and Draco was not the same person he was back then. He was still learning to be comfortable in an ever-changing body and the last thing he needed was to be worried about Hermione seeing it. Touching it. Scrutinizing it. Hermione would try not to, but she was perpetually inclined to detail-oriented observation and Draco was not ready to be quite so _observed._

“It is not the right time, Hermione.” He sighed heavily and kissed her cheek. “No matter how much I wish it was.”

“You’re probably right, but I had to try.”

“Plus,” Draco teased, “I try not to have sex anywhere I’ve been tried for war crimes.”

Hermione laughed.

“Will you come with me again next week?”

“Of course.” Draco wrapped one arm around her shoulders to pull her close. “And the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that ...”

She hugged him back and insisted, “I love you so much.”

“And I love you more than anything, Hermione Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *John Mulaney voice* 
> 
> Could be a nursery.


	52. I Want Your Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, when people have found their forever love, they have a certain look in their eyes. Bill has it with Fleur, my mum and dad still have it, and this man?” He pointed to Draco. “I saw it the moment I met him, and it sure as hell was not because of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you had "LittleSixx sticks to her update schedule for exactly one post" on your BINGO card, then you're a winner! To be fair, Wednesdays since then have been pretty bananas. Anyhow, please forgive any errors in this chapter as it has been lightly edited. Chapter title and referenced song are by the iconic George Michael.
> 
> TW: References to Physical Abuse  
> CW: Sexytimes

Draco was on the second step in front of Clearwater & Patil on Tuesday when Harry Potter arrived.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“It takes awhile to get used to this.” Draco stood up and adjusted his scarf. “Those first few weeks, I had Hermione. You should have someone, too. It helps.”

Potter nodded and grumbled, “Right.”

“What’s bothering you?”

“If they needed somebody special just to help me, seems I am pretty fucked in the head.”

“I don’t think that is it at all.”

“No?”

“Everyone in the Eastern Hemisphere knows about you, your story, the legend. Hard to distinguish fact from fiction, you know? Going to America, I bet Penelope found someone who is familiar enough with your story so you don’t have to give him your entire biography but distant enough from it so as to not have formed an opinion.”

“Huh.” Potter shrugged. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know Penelope’s thought process well enough to say if she has chosen someone to help you, it is because they are the best.”

“What if they ask a question I don’t want to answer?”

“Then you don’t answer. Merlin’s arse ...” Draco paused to think. “God, it took months before I was ready to speak about Astoria.”

Potter fidgeted and asked, “What if I don’t like them?”

“I don’t think you are meant to like them. You only have to trust them.”

They walked inside together and Lila accepted Harry’s payment. Draco felt rather odd watching Potter pay for something he so desperately needed. They sat in the waiting area and Draco nestled into his familiar chair. Potter plopped down next to him and neither said a word until Penelope appeared a few minutes later, with a kind-looking middle-aged man at her side.

Harry stood up while Draco remained in his chair.

“Hi.”

Penelope grinned and said, “Mr. Potter, this is Eli Maddux.”

Mr. Maddux nodded and did not offer his hand. Draco thought that was a bit odd, but perhaps they did things differently in America. A bit more standoffish, _professional_ he supposed. Harry stuttered out,

“Good to meet you.”

Mr. Maddux smiled politely and asked, “Shall we go back to the office?”

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Potter nodded, trying to reassure himself. He chanced a glance over at Draco who flashed a thumbs-up. “Let’s go then.”

Draco watched them disappear down the hallway, then stared up at the ceiling. He was lost in thought, wondering what to do about Hermione. How could he introduce her to his family? To his new home? Was this doomed from the start? There was no good way to say, “I know you were tortured upstairs, but look what I have done with the dining room!”

There were so many unanswered questions about their future together. Engagement. Wedding. Children. Work. Draco was pulled from his thoughts an hour later when Potter fell heavily into the chair beside him. He sighed loudly, then groaned as he leaned his head back against the wall.

“That was awful.”

“Hmm.”

“Not like it wasn’t productive, because it was, but it made me angry. Angry at the world, that this happened to me. Going through it all just to be labeled with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder seems a bit anticlimactic. Was sort of hoping I’d be whisked off to St. Mungo’s for a potion that would make life happier again.”

Draco chuckled and agreed, “I sort of hoped for that, too.”

“I’ve got an order for some potion Maddux thinks will help. He’s a doctor, actually, only has three diplomas on the wall. Thing is, I think this might work.”

“Are you going to Bastien?”

Potter nodded.

“I know he won’t say anything.”

“No, he won’t.” Without any thought, Draco revealed, “I think I may do Christmas at the manor this year.”

“You lot used to have massive Christmas parties.”

“Last Christmas I had broken up with Hermione because she broke my face. The Christmas before that, Astoria told me I would be better off dead and it kills the mood for awhile.”

“I see.”

“I think it would be nice for Hermione to spend Christmas at the manor, so she can see how it could be a home. We can do a small thing on Christmas Day, so I was thinking of inviting my family over.”

“Do your parents not live at the manor?”

Draco scoffed.

“They have a long road ahead before I would consider them family the way Blaise, Theo, Bastien, and Pansy are to me. I would also want to invite Hermione’s friends as there seems to be considerable overlap. That is where I hit a bit of a snag ...”

“Why?” Harry asked. “We spend Christmas Eve at the Weasley’s, but we are free on the day.”

“It is just that Hermione is always skittish about Alicia.”

“With good reason.”

Draco wondered, “Were things truly so bad?”

Harry Potter sighed heavily, under the weight of too many unpleasant memories.

“They were only married a couple years. After the war they dated and fell out of love rather quickly, over and over again. Krum and Alicia were mostly compensatory until Ron and Hermione got back together. Hermione let go of those thoughts while Ron didn’t. It was horrible because the two of them didn’t think anything through. Ron proposed a month in, they were married three months later, and divorced two years after that.”

“Yet they still remain friends?”

“Their friendship never suffered. You have to understand we never thought their friendship and marriage overlapped. Everyone told them marriage was a bad idea. Literally, _everyone_. Alicia could have moved on. She could have let Ron go or asked him not to marry Hermione, but she didn’t do either of those things. She let Ron exist in this push-and-pull between the two of them. And she was happy with it. She liked toying with Ron while going off and shagging other people, dating other people just to make Ron jealous. Ron hated it, wanted his marriage to Hermione to reflect more of what he saw in Alicia. That’s why he pushed her so much, and it ended with the roof literally caving in on him. He brought this shit upon himself by choosing Alicia. He never chose Hermione, not really. He’s just too fucking loyal to end a relationship.”

“I still do not understand why Hermione blames Alicia, though. Not if Weasley was the true culprit in this.”

“He wasn’t, though, was he?” asked Potter. “Alicia met him at St. Mungo’s the day after the accident. Ron asked for divorce papers that afternoon. Once she saw Ron was done with Hermione, _she_ started to push _him._ Three months later, they found out Alicia was pregnant with Rose. Which means, of course, it had been less than two months after the divorce when they began seeing each other. Hermione was so broken up over what she’d done, there wasn’t anyone serious until you came along. So you can understand why everyone sort of thought it was a joke. We thought she was only moving on with you to make Ron jealous, considering he left Hermione and jumped right into bed with one of her close friends.”

Draco shook his head.

“Unfuckingbelievable.”

“Erm, yeah, that’s what we all said.” Potter shrugged. “I may not be the best husband right now, I know, but I love Gin. Never much thought I’d marry my first long-term girlfriend, but when it’s right, it’s right. Alicia and Ron, they’re a good family for Rose. But we’d be lying if we said Alicia hadn’t made things impossible for us as a family. Having to choose who spends Christmas where just to keep Alicia and Hermione apart. They’ve gotten better about it, but when she came after you at dinner ...”

Draco realized, “She was only trying to undercut Hermione’s relationship.”

“I don’t understand it at all. She has Ron. She has _a child_ with Ron, but she resents Hermione for having him first, I think.” Potter rolled his eyes. “I dunno.”

“Astoria was the same way with Blaise.”

“Well, when it’s right, it’s right, and I think we have all come around to see that you’re right for Hermione. She’s so happy when she’s seen you. She’d fallen so deep into work that I thought she’d be stuck at the Ministry forever, married to mountains of paperwork. Then you came along and she was happy. Hermione’s not ...” Harry turned to face Draco and said, “This is going to sound horrible, but Hermione’s not a naturally happy person.”

“Not around people, no. She’s happier around books and inside libraries.”

“And around you. Ron and I were upset she’d been spending all her Saturdays away from us. She stopped spending her free time with us, and when you ran off to France or whatever, she was heartbroken over it. Only then did she tell us she’d been blowing us off to spend time with you, of all people.”

Draco laughed.

“Perhaps I’m better company.”

“Right, okay, I’m about to be very honest with you, so don’t be a dick.”

“Okay.”

“Everybody looked at the three of us as one thing, er, like a unit. We were each a third of a trio, but a third of a person. Hermione’s the brain, Ron’s the heart, and I’m like ... the conscience. Her value has always been in her intellect so she trusts it to get her places. She’s never felt that her heart was as valuable so she never focused on it. You finally gave her a reason to, so please try not to fuck it up, alright? She deserves to be a happy person.”

“I know,” replied Draco. “Hermione deserves everything I can give her.”

“And you’re not worried about her outshining you?”

“Well, Potter, I’m about to be very honest with you.”

Harry frowned and nudged his shoulder.

Draco said, “I love Hermione and I intend to marry her if she’ll have me. That feels like that is something you should know. I want her to be happy, to be free to pursue what she wants. The only thing I want for myself is to be a dad. Hermione and I have not spoken about it at length, but she has said she is open to it. Hermione being happy is what makes me happy. Watching her decide to fix things, change the world ... I know she will outshine me; her legacy will outlive all of ours. You don’t compete with the sun, you know?”

Harry laughed.

“That’s a good way to see it.”

“I know you are part of the package. You and Weasley. I won’t try to pull her away from you, I hope you know that.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.” Draco nodded. “You need to go get pissed again?”

“No, but I could go for lunch.”

“Great, I know a place.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione met Draco outside Clearwater & Patil on Thursday. They walked in holding hands and it was nice. A bit distant, but nice. Therapy was fine, one of the more unmemorable sessions there only to hold Draco over until the following week. They ate lunch together at Blaise’s restaurant just north of Godric’s Hollow. Halfway through the appetizer Draco revealed,

“I was thinking of having Christmas at the manor this year.”

“You used to have such grand parties,” replied Hermione, “why did you stop?”

“You know how awful the past two Christmases have been for me.”

Hermione frowned and poked at her food with a fork. She nodded and grumbled,

“Yes, I know.”

“I was thinking it could be a large family affair. Blaise and Dean, obviously. Gabrielle, Bastien and Padma; Theo, Trace, and the twins; Pansy if she’s returned. Figured you could invite Potter so the twins have company. And anyone else you might think of.”

Hermione’s mouth formed a very thin line as she said, “I don’t spend Christmas with Ronald.”

“I believe you stay away because you do not wish to spend Christmas with Alicia.”

“What if I do? It hardly matters. They are happy in their life, and Alicia spends her time trying to make me feel horrible about mine.”

“Would you feel horrible about your life if you spent it with my family at the manor?”

“No, I’d quite like that.” 

“Then she has nothing to attack. Maybe this is the way to show your friends we plan to live life together, and that we will be happy together.”

“Do you truly look at me and see that?” asked Hermione. “After everything I put you through ... I feel like it should be more difficult than this.”

Draco tamped down the anger threatening to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. Then he looked Hermione in the eyes and said,

“I am not Ron Weasley, and you need to stop believing I want to treat you as he did. Our friendship is an integral part of this relationship, and when you asked me for forgiveness I gave it to you as a partner in every way. _This_ is what I want. _You_ are what I want. If you don’t want to spend Christmas with me, that is fine, but do not use last Christmas as an excuse.”

“I keep thinking about last Christmas because Ron always chose Alicia over me. Every time, alright? I promised myself that if I ever fell in love again I would make sure it is someone who chooses me. Last Christmas I chose my anger over you; I did to you what Ron had done to me. On top of all that, there is a mysterious older man out there who makes you happy and I can’t help but think maybe I am keeping you from a happier life. One that doesn’t involve tiptoeing around your girlfriend.”

“You believe I am too careful around you?”

“I believe you aren’t careful enough.”

Draco let his head fall into his hands.

“And to think the other day I told Potter ...” He cut himself off. “Forget it.”

“What were you doing with Harry?”

“Lunch,” snapped Draco. “We went to lunch. Is that alright with you?”

“Why didn’t either of you tell me?”

“Because it was a man-to-man conversation about our future together.”

“You and Harry have a future together?”

“You and me, Hermione. _Our_ future together. I was speaking to him about my intention to marry you in an increasingly distant future. I wanted him to know I had no intent to pull you away from him and Weasley.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because they are important to you, Hermione! I want the important people in your life to stay there.”

“So you met with Harry and told him what?”

“He asked whether, down the line, I would be envious of you outshining me.”

“And you said?”

“I will not try to compete with the sun.”

Hermione stared at Draco, a curious expression on her face. 

“There is something else, isn’t there? You said, ‘And to think I told Potter ...’ What did you tell him that has you so upset?”

Draco shrugged.

“We haven’t spoken about the one thing I want out of this relationship for myself. It is completely secondary, of course, so I hardly think it merits a conversation.”

“Speak plainly, please?”

“I want to be a father and you said you want to have a child with me. I am happy about it, but I worry you are doing this for me. Not because you want to be a mum.”

Hermione admitted, “I never thought I could make a good mother until you told me I would.”

“I am not wrong.”

“You have given me so much, and all you ask for is a family of your own. So if you want to know whether I am doing it for you, yes. Yes, I am. I would not trust anyone else to father my child. You have shown me exactly what you will be like as a father with Scarlett and Sebastien. I like the thought of a child running around the house with wild blond curls. I want to have you and a son to come home to. We talk all the time about living our lives together, and this is something we could do together that will be part of us forever. As long as you take the lead, this is absolutely something I see for us in the future.”

“I love that.”

“I love you, and I want to be confident you are making the right choice to be with me. If you believe spending Christmas at Malfoy Manor is the best way to rub my happiness in Alicia’s face, then by all means we can have Christmas there. However, I still feel like there is a distance between us.”

Draco guessed, “It’s James.”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, “it is.”

“I wanted to let you go. I wanted to prove I could be happy without you and, yes, I can be. I figured that much out. I had sex with him once, we had one date and it was fantastic. But you know what, Hermione? It does not compare to the first time I kissed you. The thought of him—”

“You still think of him, Draco, and that is the problem. You don’t see the way you light up when you speak of him. You don’t look at me like that. He makes you softer, and I ...” Hermione tossed her fork onto the plate. “I can’t do that.”

“I have made a decision, Hermione.”

“Just because we want the same thing, does not mean this is the right decision.”

“That is _exactly_ what it means! I still think of him because that is the last time I had sex, the last time someone held me and made me feel like I was worth something physically. Maybe I do light up when I think of him, because he is a good person and I like to have good people in my life! I don’t go to therapy with him. I don’t send flowers to his office. And while you may have a difficult time believing it, Hermione, I do not want to have sex with him again. So I am making the right decision, you are just terrified of letting yourself enjoy this because you are afraid of hurting me.”

“You didn’t see yourself when it happened. Your nose was bleeding and the white of your eye had gone red.” She nodded as their lunch plates were placed in front of them. Once the waiter had left, she said, “I know you forgave me. I have forgiven myself, but that does not mean I trust myself not to do it again.”

“You keep talking in circles.”

“That is how my life seems to be going.”

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

“Don’t downplay this!”

“ _I_ believe in you. _I_ trust you not to hurt me. Why can you not trust me in return?” Draco pulled several Galleons out of his pocket and threw them on the table. “If you will continue to be haunted by what you did to me, Hermione, then let it go.”

He stood up to leave, but paused before he turned to say,

“I will see you tomorrow.”

**.oOo.**

Draco met Hermione for therapy the next morning and everything was fine. She wore a knee-length dress and a long coat. It was normal, a kiss in greeting, an hour in the waiting room. Everything was good. Hermione felt decent after her session; she had Parvati on Fridays and said those visits were far lighter than her time with Padma. 

Lunch together was good. They shared chips and talked about nothing. Hermione agreed to spend Christmas at the manor and said her parents wanted to have dinner with him. 

“Does that mean we are getting serious?”

“I told them I hoped one day I would marry you.”

“What did they say?”

“My dad said congratulations, and he is excited for the both of us.”

“And your mum?”

“Her exact words were, ‘I hope it sticks this time.’”

Draco didn’t know what to make of that dichotomy. He shrugged it off and they planned to walk for a bit before Hermione’s lunch break ended. Not that Draco blamed her; he, too, wanted to spend as little time at the Ministry as possible. He pulled on his coat and helped Hermione into hers, before they rejoined the stragglers on Horizont Alley.

“Draco?”

He heard someone call his name from across the street. 

“Draco!”

He turned to see a man running across the street. Draco smiled as the man’s face came into focus. James Mountcastle had more grey in his hair than Draco remembered, but it looked good. He had the same infectious smile that made Draco melt, and his heart skipped a beat as James stepped onto the sidewalk. He pulled Draco into a hug and said,

“It’s been awhile.”

Draco smiled and kissed James’s cheek before pulling back to ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I needed some books. Nasty curse I’ve never seen before, over in Scotland. Exciting, you know. What are you doing here?”

“I am out to lunch with Hermione.”

James raised his eyebrows, only just noticing Hermione hovering a bit behind Draco. His smile widened as Hermione raised her hand in a hesitant wave. James pulled her into a hug.

“So you are Hermione Granger! Bill speaks highly of you. Not as highly as Malfoy, here, obviously.” He seemed to realize Hermione was a bit stunned and pulled away. “Right, I haven’t introduced myself.” He offered his hand. “James Mountcastle.”

Hermione swallowed thickly and shook his hand.

“You’re James?”

“Indeed, I am. Hope Draco hasn’t talked too much shit about me.”

Hermione grumbled, “Quite the contrary.”

“Good to hear! So ... Are you two back together?”

“Yes!” Hermione said a little too quickly. 

“Yes?” asked James.

Hermione confirmed, “Yes.”

“YES!” James punched Draco’s shoulder and said, “What great news! You know, when people have found their forever love, they have a certain look in their eyes. Bill has it with Fleur, my mum and dad still have it, and this man?” He pointed to Draco. “I saw it the moment I met him, and it sure as hell was not because of me.”

Draco sighed softly, hoping James would eventually have that for himself.

“God, it’s so great to meet you, Hermione. Unfortunately, I have to dash. I’m running late and now that I’m not freelancing apparently ‘timeliness’ is a valued skill. Who knew? Anyhow, take care of this one for me?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, “yes of course. Lovely to meet you, as well.”

James ran toward the other end of the street and shouted over his shoulder,

“HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON!”

“Dammit!” Hermione groaned. “I like him.”

“Right? Isn’t he the best?”

“I feel lighter somehow. Seeing him for thirty seconds has made me all floaty.”

“Do you understand why I still enjoy his company?”

“Oh, absolutely. Hell, can we invite _him_ for Christmas?”

“A wonderful idea.”

Hermione took Draco’s hand and asked, “Would you mind if I took us somewhere a bit more quiet?”

He shook his head, and next thing Draco knew he was spat onto the floor of what could only be Hermione’s bedroom. He looked around to see it was rather empty except for a dresser, nightstand, and one wall that had been converted into a bookshelf. Hermione’s bed was covered by a plain grey duvet and white throw pillows.

“What do you think?” asked Hermione.

“Boring.” Draco turned slowly to take in the full room, and came to the same conclusion. “This is the most dull room I have ever seen.”

“Well ...” Hermione walked over to Draco, pressed herself against him, and stuck her hands in the back pockets of his trousers. “I can think of something to do that is considerably less boring.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“My parents are at work, and you were right yesterday. I have put distance between us, and I think the problem is literal distance. I want to be close to you.”

Draco shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the bed.

“How close?”

Hermione pulled her hands free of Draco’s trousers and ran her hands up and down his chest.

“Well, I dare say I would like you to be so close as to be inside me.”

Draco snickered.

“You dare say?”

“I do.”

Draco kissed her softly, slowly, and it felt right. He pulled back just far enough to ask,

“Will this be a mistake?”

Hermione shook her head.

“We have been putting it off. First me, then you, then me again. I miss being so close to you.”

“I am not ready for all of it, yet, but we have been creative before.”

“You don’t have to take anything off, just hold me and come inside me.”

Draco walked Hermione backward until she was pressed firmly against the wall. He bent to snog her, hungry for as much as Hermione would give him. He ran out of breath and pulled back to kiss a path along the side of her neck. He twirled the hem of Hermione’s dress between two fingers, but did not pull it up. Hermione leaned back to look up at him.

“I know I told you I like it slow.”

“Mmhmm.”

“But it has been so long ...”

“Tell me how you want this to go, Hermione.”

She licked her lips and said, “I am all yours, so take it fast.”

_Not a problem._

Draco whispered, “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

Hermione complied and Draco trailed the pads of his fingers along her sides. Gently, up and down, from the top of her shoulder, through the dip of her waist, to settle on her hips for a moment before repeating the movements back. After a few moments, Hermione groaned in frustration.

“We have different definitions of ‘fast.’”

“I assure you, we don’t.”

“Then what do you call—”

“If you’d like to take the reins, Hermione, you are free to fuck yourself,” Draco teased. “I will be more than happy to watch.”

“Less fun for me, though.”

Draco pressed his pelvis firmly against Hermione’s bum and placed one hand on her breast. He felt Hermione’s breath stutter in her chest and _God, yes_ , he’d dreamed about this, wanked to thoughts of doing this again ... He kissed the juncture of her neck and shoulder then pulled Hermione’s dress up to her waist. He circled her middle with his other arm and held the dress in place as he pulled her knickers down to her knees. She wiggled out of them and the way her arse moved against him ...

_Good God._

He was rock-hard. It had been so long, this would be another embarrassingly quick fuck. She kicked her knickers aside and leaned further forward. Draco leaned back for a moment to look at Hermione, presenting herself for the taking.

“So you know, the way you look right now will feature in every wank for the rest of my life.”

She didn’t respond except to push her bum out even further. He patted her thigh and walked her forward just a bit. Draco pulled her close, then removed his hand to unfasten his trousers. He pushed his pants and trousers down just far enough to free his dick. He slid inside Hermione at an achingly slow pace, applying pressure on her clit with one hand and holding her dress up with the other.

There wasn’t any talking except whispered praise and stilted mumbling _._ Draco’s hands were everywhere as he moved inside Hermione, he dropped her dress and watched it fall, obscuring the place where they were joined together. The muscles in Hermine’s arms tensed beneath his fingers as her palms turned into fists against the wall. Draco placed one hand on the nape of Hermoine’s neck and pushed her head down, stretching out her back as he felt a pressure begin to build in his core. Hermione groaned as he reached a deeper place inside her, and reached down to touch herself. 

Draco pulled out and pushed Hermione so her chest and cheek were flush against the wall. He slid inside her again and placed his hands on her hips. Hermione reached behind her to grab Draco by the neck and pull him down into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Draco knew he wouldn’t last much longer, and quickened the pace as he thrust his hips against her backside. He bent to bite down on the point where her neck met her shoulder, and she came without warning.

Hermione tightened around his dick, her thighs shook and her fingernails scraped against the wall as she searched for purchase and came up empty.

“God, yes. _More of that._ ”

Draco didn’t slow, he felt his own release build quickly, listening to Hermione moan his name between “so fucking good” and “like that, just like that.” He didn’t want it to end. He spent months wanting Hermione to trust him, to see Hermione let go like this and she was doing it, coming undone beneath him and—

He closed his eyes as he came. Draco held onto Hermione’s waist and pressed his forehead into her shoulder. 

“ _SogoodHermione,sogood, Iloveyousomuch.”_

“Yeah,” she replied, breathless, “I love you, too.”

Draco pulled out and glanced down at himself, then looked around the room.

“Fucking hell, do you have a towel?”

“In the bathroom.” Hermione pointed toward the closed door on the wall across from the bookcases. “You can clean yourself up however you need.” She turned around and leaned against the wall. “You look really good like this, all sweaty and your hair half-undone like that.”

Draco laughed.

“My cock is hanging out of my trousers, I think you can spare the flattery.”

“Go on, then.” She smiled and walked around him to sit on her bed. “Hurry back.”

Draco did as he was told. He cleaned up with one of her hand towels and tucked his dick back into his pants. Draco undid his hair and ran his fingers through it, figuring he might as well let it loose as so much had fallen out during sex. He smiled at himself in the mirror, happy and satisfied. Of all the things that moment had been, it had not been a mistake. He fastened his trousers then walked out to see Hermione lounging on her bed, head resting contentedly against the pillows. 

He laid on the bed next to her and stared up at the ceiling. Hermione rolled on top of Draco and took his face in her hands.

“Mountcastle was right, you know. You have that look in your eyes.”

“I told you,” Draco insisted, “there is no one I want more than I want you.”

Hermione kissed him slowly and ran her fingers through Draco’s hair.

“I like it long,” she said.

Draco rolled them both over so he was on top and resting his head on her chest.

“I am glad you like it. Thought about trying the beard again, but—”

“Maybe you should. If you want to try it again ...” Hermione yawned and stretched her arms out wide. She bumped the nightstand and her lamp fell to the floor with a loud clunk! 

Draco jumped a bit at the sound. He moved to pick it up, cast a quick Mending Charm if required, but Hermione pulled him down into another lazy kiss.

“Don’t bother, I want you to stay right here with me. Just like this.”

A few kisses later, Draco asked, “Shouldn’t you be back at work by now?”

“Can’t we stay like this until Christmas?”

“If we could—”

Someone knocked on Hermione’s door. Draco saw Hermione’s eyes widen in shock as a male voice asked,

“Everything alright, honey?”

She whispered, “He’s supposed to be at work?”

Draco mouthed, “What do we do?”

Hermione panicked. Of everything life had prepared her for, apparently being caught in bed with Draco Malfoy, caught by her father, no less, hadn’t made the list. Draco leapt into action, figuring the bathroom door would make too much noise. He stood to the right of her bedroom door. She caught on and opened the door so Draco was standing just behind it.

Hermione let out a shaky, “Dad? What are you doing home?”

“I was feeling a bit sniffly, so I left the office early. Is the Malfoy boy here?”

“What?” asked Hermione. In the least-convincing voice, she asked, “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, honey, these walls are not as thick as you think they are.”

All the colour drained from Hermoine’s face.

“Don’t worry, when I realized what the two of you were up to I put on my headphones. There are some things a father does not need to hear. But I heard a loud crash and wanted to make sure nothing untoward had occurred.”

Hermione glanced down at the floor and Draco realized what that word meant. “Untoward,” as in, “Have you abused him again?” It was hardly surprising Hermione doubted herself if her own family refused to see the progress she had made.

“No, dad, nothing like that. I knocked over a lamp.”

“Ah, a bit of post-intimacy cuddling gone wrong?”

Hermione’s cheeks turned pink as she insisted, “I never said Draco was here.”

“Right, right, well ... Mr. Malfoy, I know you are ‘not here,’ but please be advised we would like to have you over for dinner soon. Hermione implies things are rather serious between the two of you and we’d like to meet you. Officially. Unofficially, Abby is never to know about this.”

Hermione gave him a half-convincing smile and asked, “Know about what?”

“This is our secret, Hermione Jean.”

“If you could stop hovering—”

“Right, right, you two say your goodbyes. Remember,” he sang, “sex is natural, sex is fun, sex is best when it’s one-on-one!”

Hermione looked mortified.

“DAD!”

He shouted “Love you!” just before Hermione slammed the door shut and let her head fall into her hands. Draco laughed and pulled her into a hug.

“I can’t lie to my dad, it’s like lying to the Pope!”

“It is probably for the best. I wouldn’t have let you out of bed for hours and you need to go back to work.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“But Hermione?”

“Yes?”

Draco held up her underwear and said, 

“You might want to put your knickers on before you go.”


	53. Subspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spare a broom, ride a Malfoy.
> 
> (Or: Draco and Bastien have no time for your gender roles.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any errors. No trigger warnings for this chapter, however it's definitely a lot. Takes place in late November/December 3rd, 2008.
> 
> CW: Anal Sex  
> CW: Fisting

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

Draco’s breath formed a thick cloud around his lips as he ran.

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

Bastien kept pace at his side, but they were both tiring out. Draco could see the tree marking the end of their run in the distance up ahead. Ninety seconds more.

Sixty seconds more.

He gasped, the cold air left a sharp pain in his throat.

Thirty seconds more.

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

_Right foot._

_Left foot._

_It’s there._

_Right there._

_So close._

_Three steps._

_Two steps._

_One._

“Thank _fuck_ that’s over!” Bastien was doubled-over, hands on his knees, puffing out cloud after cloud of breath. He pulled off one glove and threw it half-heartedly at Draco. “Since when are you faster than me?”

Draco wiped sweat from his brow and shrugged.

“Dunno. The elves have me on a strict schedule now. It’s a bit annoying, actually. Millet hovers outside the door until I present her with a clean plate. Endearing, though, because I think they actually care.”

“How’d your parents take the news?”

“They shrugged it off. I was stunned, but they told me they expected it was coming. My mother’s words were, ‘The Granger girl has always been a bit peculiar.’ My father said, ‘It’s your money.’ So now I’m paying the elves and they look adorable. I bought them all little robes so they’re like a real staff. I think it’s been quite good for morale.”

“Right, yeah, it’s the _robes_ that are good for morale.” Bastien laughed. “I love it. I love you so much, mate, but let’s finish the walk so we can get out of this weather. My dick’s nearly frozen to my bollocks.”

Draco laughed.

“How is Padma?”

Bastien’s face lit up, even through the wind-burned flush.

“Why did nobody tell me married sex is the best sex? Now that I get to call her my wife, it’s a whole new thing. It’s lazy, it’s slow, it’s a regular part of the day. Before, it was a sacred thing, you know? Sex with Padma. Now it’s sex with _my wife_. I get to be intimate with her every day. I know her better now, the ins and outs, what she likes, when she likes it—”

“How do you mean, _when_?”

“She has her difficult clients on Tuesdays, so I make sure to go down on her.” Bastien shrugged as they walked toward the end of the trail. He pulled on his jacket and said, “So she doesn’t have to think about anything, doesn’t have to do any of the work. It’s all me. I make dinner on Tuesdays. I dunno if she noticed that’s what I do, but it’s what I think she needs. It’s only been four Tuesdays, but it feels right. Then I work late on Saturdays at the shop, so she brings me lunch. I even cleaned the bathroom last week.”

“No!” Draco nudged his shoulder. “ _You_ cleaned a toilet?”

“I did.” Bastien scrunched his nose. “Apparently I didn’t do it well, but I’ll learn.”

“Good God, who are you and what have you done with Bastien Queensbury?”

“Remember, it’s Queensbury-Patil, now.” He grinned. “She said she had a crush on me for _years_ before I asked her out, and all I can think of is how happy I am that I waited. If we’d been together earlier I don’t think I would have appreciated her as much.”

Draco asked, “Have you talked about children?”

“We won’t try for a few years. It’s not the sort of responsibility we want right now.”

Draco nodded, but didn’t reply. It was such a foreign idea to him, not starting a family the moment he could. Bastien asked,

“Have you talked about it with Hermione?”

“Yes.”

“... And?”

“She wants to have kids because I want them. It makes me feel awful because she will have to pause her life to make it happen.” Draco groaned. “But I want it so badly. I know she will be a good mother, but if she doesn’t truly want it then who am I to ask that of her?”

“If Hermione says she wants to have a child with you, then it’s what she wants.”

“I know, but—”

“I think you’re worried about something else and projecting onto this.” Bastien stuffed his hands into the pockets of his running jacket and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Draco grimaced.

“She keeps asking for us to be intimate again and I keep putting it off.”

“Why would you do that?”

Draco glanced down at the path and sighed.

“I’ve been eating food pretty regularly since April. I have been on a strict schedule since August, and it shows. I am heavier than I have ever been. My clothes still fit, but they are tighter and they look differently when I put them on. Hermione continues to lose weight and I keep gaining it. I don’t want her to feel me like this.”

“Sorry?” Bastien snapped. “You had me half-dead after a run just now, and you think you’re too _heavy_? When we started doing this you could barely make it five kilometres. Now you’re running three times as many with me every-other morning. Why the hell would you think Hermione wouldn’t fuck someone with that sort of stamina?”

“It’s nothing,” mumbled Draco. “Forget I said anything.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“We’ve been friends for fifteen years, mate, what could possibly be so embarrassing that you don’t want to tell me?”

Draco admitted, “My stomach isn’t flat anymore. I was fine with everything else, but it’s like a little pouch, so when I look at myself from the side it’s ... It’s gross, Bastien. It’s so gross.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re denying yourself sex with the love of your life because you’ve gained a bit of weight in your stomach?”

“Mhmm.”

Bastien rolled his eyes and unzipped his jacket. He faced Draco full-on and pulled his t-shirt out of his trackies. He pulled the hem up to his chest and asked,

“Does this look normal to you?”

“Of course it does.”

Bastien turned to the side and said, “Not flat, though.”

Draco glanced down and, alright, Bastien had a similar pouch look happening from the side. He shrugged it off.

“It’s not the same.”

Bastien let his shirt fall down and huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re _you._ ”

“So?”

“So there are seventy-five things about you more impressive than how you look. All I have is my body and my money, and Hermione has her own money.”

“Do you think I am your friend because you’re hot?”

Draco frowned.

“No, but—”

“Do you think I am your friend because of your money?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re damn right. I am your friend because you always try to be there for the people you care about. You try to make people laugh, you care for Theo’s kids better than anybody would ever expect you to. Your problem is that you keep refusing to see how you help people just by being who you are. Blaise was terrified to love anyone before he fell in love with you. _You_ gave him the confidence to pursue a relationship with Dean. You run with me every morning so I don’t get bored, and I can talk about Padma for as long as I want. You have given Hermione a reason to look toward a future where she can be happy, and she will be perfectly happy shagging you however you look.”

“It looks different.” Draco swallowed thickly and admitted, “I don’t feel like myself.”

“You don’t feel like how you used to because this _is_ who you are. Maybe you’re a bit softer around the edges, but it makes you look fantastic. No more hiding behind being thin, no more hiding _at all_. Right now you’re looking for a reason to hide from Hermione and I won’t be part of it.”

Draco hung his head and walked forward. Bastien half-jogged to catch up.

“It doesn’t feel like enough.” He sighed. “ _I_ don’t feel like enough.”

“Hermione will find a way to show you that you _are_ enough. You love her, don’t you?”

“I do.” Draco grinned. “I might even clean a bathroom for her.”

Bastien playfully punched his shoulder.

“I mean it. You’re going to be a great husband and a fantastic father. Stop worrying about your body. As long as your dick’s working well enough to give Hermione a good ride, why would she care about the rest?”

“You know how much I love when you talk about me like I’m a broomstick.”

“Well, you know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“Spare a broom, ride a Malfoy.”

Draco snickered.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Bastien placed one hand on Draco’s shoulder and said, “And if you really needed me, I’d clean a toilet for you.”

**.oOo.**

On December 3rd, Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor with an overnight bag in hand. Draco met her at the front door and smiled. God, he’d wanted this for so long and the house was finally ready. Hermione was bundled up in a thick coat and lilac scarf. Draco could tell she came straight from the Ministry because she was still in her tights and heels. She glanced around, taking in the new surroundings.

“It’s different from what I remember,” she said. “Brighter, somehow.”

“Wait until you see inside.”

“I am so happy to be out of my parents’ house and here with you. I finally feel like I can breathe.”

She was beaming up at him and Draco felt like he might be, for the first time, welcoming her home. He heard the doors open behind him and watched Hermione’s jaw drop when she caught sight of the staircase. The railings were wrapped in garland and they had affixed large bows to each of the entryway columns. 

“This isn’t the same house.” Hermione’s eyes went wide as she insisted, “This can’t be your house. It was dark and there was a hallway here, with stairs at the back. I ... I remember being pushed up stairs at the back.”

“There were too many terrible memories in the manor walls for me to live here.” Draco shrugged. “So I had them tear down the walls and turn this into a real home.”

Hermione’s eyes were glassy when she said, “It does look like home.”

“It is hardly my home without you in it,” Draco replied. “Come in.”

She stepped inside and Draco followed behind, as a house-elf appeared at the foot of the staircase. He walked up to Hermione and asked,

“May I take your bag?”

Hermione stood still for a moment, then looked at Draco as if she wondered whether this was an elaborate joke. She took note of the house-elf’s red robe with white cuffs and trim. It was held closed by a single button emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. Draco nodded to the house-elf and said,

“This is Sprig, our Head House-elf. He manages a staff of seven, though we used to have eight. I lost Tippy to the Hogwarts kitchens, but she will be happier there. Anyhow, Dill and Cumin head up our kitchen here in the manor. Maple handles the dining room, then Fennel is in charge of messages and welcoming guests at the door. Grainne handles the cleaning.”

“You ... freed your elves?”

“I figured you wouldn’t live anywhere house-elves are treated as servants. Now they’re paid ten Galleons a week, plus the room and board. The house-elf quarters were expanded, they have closets now, and they have staff robes.”

“Mister Malfoy,” Sprig said, “if you’ll permit me, we do have feedback to give.”

It was still a bit odd, having a house-elf address him without being acknowledged as a participant in the conversation. Draco nodded for Sprig to continue.

“Do so freely.”

“We would prefer two smaller buttons instead of one big button.”

Draco nodded.

“Noted. Anything else?”

“No, Mister Malfoy.” Sprig turned to Hermione and held out his hands. “May I take your bag, Ms. Granger?”

“Yes,” she offered it to Sprig and insisted, “thank you so much.”

“On behalf of my staff, we extend our sincerest gratitude.” He accepted the bag and it disappeared between his hands. He looked up at Hermione with wide eyes. “Without you, Mister Malfoy would have no incentive to give us our freedom. We are grateful to remain at Malfoy Manor, but it is because of you we can do so with dignity.”

“I’m gonna cry.” Hermione took Draco’s hand and said, “I haven’t been here ninety seconds and I’m going to cry.” She wiped her eyes and asked, “What about the other two?”

“Hmm?” asked Draco.

“You said Sprig has a staff of seven, but only named five. Who are the other two?”

“Oh! I can’t believe I forgot. Tippy was my personal ... assistant? I believe that is the proper word. When she left a couple weeks ago, Millet was promoted to my personal assistant and Cassis will be yours while you are here.”

Hermione frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

Draco nodded to Sprig, who gave the explanation.

“It is customary for the head of the house to have a personal elf on staff. We are proud to have you here, and will be delighted to serve you however you need.” Sprig bowed his head and said, “Ms. Granger, welcome to Malfoy Manor. We hope you will consider making this your home.”

The air cracked as he Disapparated, no doubt to inform the other elves of Hermione’s arrival. Draco gave Hermione an abbreviated tour, mostly a walk around the gardens. Anything to stay away from the bedroom. As the night crept closer, Draco wondered whether this was a bad idea. Would he ever be ready for this?

**.oOo.**

They hadn’t talked about this part of the evening. What if Hermione had different expectations? It was their first night together since ... _Since._ Draco looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if Hermione would see how terrified he was. He wore his softest black pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt with “SEEKERS ALWAYS FINISH” emblazoned across the chest. 

He took his time undoing the braids. Once finished, he ran his fingers through his hair and fluffed it out, realizing Hermione hadn’t seen him like this before. Things had never been quite so carefree between them. He supposed there wasn’t much to be done about his hair. Draco tucked it behind his ears and walked out the bathroom door before he could convince himself to spend the night curled up in the tub.

Hermione was lounging on the bed in a purple slip, the outline of her nipples poking through. Draco crawled onto the bed and waved his hand to dim the lights. He took Hermione’s face in his hands and pressed a slow, delicate kiss to her forehead.

“How was today for you?”

“Better than I believed it could be,” replied Hermione. “This place feels like you.”

Draco laid down and agreed, “It does, doesn’t it?”

Things were quiet between them for awhile. It was late, they should have been asleep, but they stayed there with their hands twined together until Hermione’s curiosity got the best of them.

“I have a sex question.” Hermione rolled onto her side and said, “When you let down your walls for me, I saw you and Blaise together.”

Draco admitted, “I didn’t realize how much that moment impacted me until you saw it. How badly Blaise wanted me to love him, and how much I wanted to love him in return. That moment was not about the sex.”

“Well he was, um. You, specifically, were ...”

Draco closed his eyes and laughed.

“My cock was up his arse, Hermione, there is no need to dance around it. He was my boyfriend, we fucked.”

“I was only wondering whether the roles ever reversed.”

Draco rolled onto his side to face Hermione and smiled.

“What are you asking?”

“You know what I’m asking.”

“Yeah,” Draco grinned even wider and said, “I do, but I want to hear you say the words.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and shook her head.

“I can’t, it’s not something I’ve ever needed to ask anyone before. It’s embarrassing.”

“You are the most brilliant person I have ever met. I know you can find the words for this question.”

Hermione opened her eyes and asked, “Did you let Blaise fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Were there others?”

“Yes.”

“So you like it generally, not just with Blaise?”

Draco nodded, proud that Hermione had finally found it in herself to ask a question that made her uncomfortable. Something that must have weighed on her for awhile; it was one thing she couldn’t give him.

“Actually,” Draco realized, “ _I_ have a sex question for _you_.”

“I am sure it is far less interesting.”

“Oh, it is far more interesting to me. When we have been together in the past, you always ask for me to finish inside you. You never seem to have much of a preference about anything else, it’s always ‘I want to feel you inside me.’ ‘Come inside me.’ I love being close to you; please don’t take this as me asking to stop. My question is only, why do you like it so much?”

“Honestly?”

“Lie to me.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“I can’t lie to you about this.”

“There _is_ a reason, then?”

“Yes.” Hermione placed her hand on Draco’s cheek and smiled wanly. “Yes, there is a reason, but it has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t know if that should make me feel better or worse.”

Draco’s mind went in a dozen different directions, none of which made sense. He searched Hermione’s eyes for a clue and found nothing. Hermione flopped onto her back and groaned an impressive series of expletives. She stared up at the ceiling, pulled one of the pillows from behind her, and hugged it to her chest.

“Ron and I dated for a couple years after the war. We broke up and I went to Viktor while he went to Alicia. Things happened very fast when we got back together, and I didn’t notice at first because sex with Ron was always nice. It was like shagging a friend, there was a trust there ... Until we got married. He started finishing on my chest or my stomach, not all the time, but more often than not. A few months in, I realized he wasn’t thinking of me when he did it.”

Draco’s heart sank. He placed one hand on her stomach and waited for her to continue. Wondering how to tell her she didn’t deserve that.

“He never said Alicia’s name out loud, but when you’ve been with someone long enough you can tell. When he came inside me, that was when I knew he was thinking of me and not fantasizing about her.” She tightened her hold on the pillow. “I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t shake it off, wondering whether I am good enough to keep someone’s mind on me.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

There was a long pause when neither of them said anything. Neither moved. Draco focused on the slight rise and fall of Hermione’s stomach beneath his fingers. She was trying to relax, but there was obvious tension in the air. When she couldn’t stand the silence any longer, she asked,

“What are you thinking?”

“I am narrowing down the ways I plan to kill Ron Weasley.”

“That is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you would blame him. I hurt him enough, Draco, he more than paid for it.”

“Then why are you _still_ paying the price for his carelessness?” asked Draco. “You have nothing to be insecure about, Hermione. I am never going to be thinking of anyone but you, and I don’t need to be inside you to remember how amazing you are. How _perfect_ you are to me.”

“I could say the same to you and you won’t believe me.”

Draco frowned.

“Why do you say that?”

Hermione grinned and revealed, “Your friends are quite chatty.”

Draco’s frown deepened.

“Bastien mentioned something to Blaise, who told Dean, who told me.”

“Oh, God, no. What did he say?”

“Nothing much.”

“ _Hermione,_ ” begged Draco, “please tell me. What do you know?”

“That you are terrified to take your clothes off in front of me.”

“Right.” Draco rolled over and smashed his face into a pillow, embarrassment causing his cheeks to turn pink. “Just let me die.”

“He also mentioned something about you not feeling like you are ‘enough.’ Enough of what, he didn’t say.”

Draco groaned.

“Weasley has moved down to fourth on my kill list.”

“How could you think that? After everything, after all that I have done to you ... It’s not fair that I even have the opportunity to be in your life. You’ve welcomed me into your home and promised to make it mine, too. You are doing the one thing nobody else has done for me.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re making space for me.”

“Of course I am making space for you! It is what you do, Hermione, you take up so much space for such a small person. I love you and I want you to have room to live your life the way you want to live it. You deserve the best of everything and I don’t feel like I am at my best right now.”

Hermione stuffed her hand beneath Draco’s shirt and traced his spine with the tip of one finger. Draco relaxed as the tension faded beneath her touch.

“Viktor did something for me a few times, and I rather liked it.”

Draco grumbled, “Bet he’s got great abs.”

“Absolutely. He was wonderful, you know, very earnest.” Hermione dropped her voice into a poor imitation of Krum. “‘ _Yes, ‘my-oh-nee, it feels so good. Stop thinking, her-my-oh-nee.’_ Then he would ask, _‘Vill you sit on my face?’_ ”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. He heard Hermione chuckle.

“That is why you remind me of him, you always ask for what you want. Or tell me what you don’t. You can say anything without a hint of insecurity, but now that I want to see all of you, you’re hiding from me again. I want to prove that I can make you feel what you wanted from Gabrielle, Blaise, and Astoria. I want to be better than them. When I was feeling low, Viktor used to do this for me. I did it for him once, and I know you’ll like it.”

“But I have to take my clothes off.”

Hermione slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and placed her palm on his bum.

“Yes, my beautiful boyfriend, you have to take your clothes off.”

Draco flattened himself on the bed and said, “You know I am a slut for compliments.”

“Yes,” Hermione teased, “that did cross my mind.” She pulled her hand away and nudged his hip. “Roll over.”

Draco obliged and Hermione situated herself on top of him, straddling his hips. She kissed him in a hard, demanding way that let Draco know he had limited control over where the evening was headed. Draco let her lead, she rolled her hips and a needy whine escaped his lips.

“Oh, God, I have wanted this for _so long._ ” Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist and let himself be snogged. Hermione’s hands were everywhere; his hair, tugging at his shirt, twining their fingers together as if to say, _you will enjoy this._ Between kisses he managed to say, “I trust you.”

Hermione broke away and pulled Draco’s pyjama bottoms down to his ankles. He kicked them off and Hermione tossed them onto the floor. He felt strangely naked, lying there in a t-shirt, half-hard in his pants while Hermione surveyed him from tip to toe. In a misguided attempt at levity, he asked,

“See something you like?”

Hermione shook her head and insisted, “Just thinking about how much stronger you are now.”

“You mean wider.”

“I mean _stronger_. I look at you and I see all the things I want you to do to me. Hold me because I feel safe in your arms, and so many naughtier things that I wouldn’t have wanted you to do when we were both so broken.”

“Mhmm ...” Draco sat up on his elbows and asked, “What do you want me to do to you, Hermione?”

“I think about you bending me over my desk at work and fucking me, your hand over my mouth because I can’t keep quiet. I want to lay on the bed with my mouth open so you can fuck my throat until I can’t breathe. I want you to wank, come on my tits and say my name because Ron never did those two things at the same time. And I—” she cut herself off. “I think about having sex with you far more often than I should.”

Draco closed his eyes and thought of the least-appealing things in the world. Hippogriffs. Dragon dung. His dick stood at attention, thinking about Hermione’s parted lips, her throat open and waiting for him. Spit falling down her cheeks as her tits bounce with every thrust of his hips. Blast-ended Skrewts. Professor Snape. Draco opened his eyes and said,

“There was one more thing. What were you going to say?”

Hermione shook her head.

“It’s horrible of me.”

“Please, Hermione, I promise not to hide if you promise me the same.”

She swallowed thickly before admitting, “When I get myself off, sometimes I think about us having sex. Loud, passionate sex, with me on the bottom, you holding me like I am something precious. And Ron’s watching from the corner, seeing I am worth fantasizing about, too.”

“You are the only person I fantasize about, Hermione.”

She kissed him softly and muttered, “I know.”

“I will never share you with Ron Weasley. However, if you want to invite Viktor Krum over then that door is wide open.”

“Right, well you think about your schoolboy crush and I’ll go get supplies.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “We need supplies?”

Hermione didn’t answer, just walked into the bathroom and left Draco spread out on the sheets. He wondered what she meant when she said, “I know you’ll like it.” He liked everything she did. She was in his house, in his bed, looking for God knows what in his bathroom. Draco stared up at the ceiling and all the fear came rushing back at once. He clutched his stomach and tried to block it out.

_Wider._

_Softer around the edges._

_Nobody will ever love you like this._

_No one will ever marry you like this._

“You look like you’re having a fit.”

Draco jumped at the sound of Hermione’s voice. He sat up abruptly and shook himself out of those thoughts. She stood at the foot of the bed, holding a towel and a sizable bottle of lube. 

“Yes.” Draco looked Hermione in the eyes and said, “Whatever you want to do, the answer is yes.”

She glanced down at her hands and said, “I assumed it would be fairly obvious. I, um, want to ... If you’d like me to, that is.” She sighed. “I can’t say it.”

“You don’t have to say anything, as long as you promise not to laugh when I come thirty seconds into this.”

Hermione smiled up at him in a way that made Draco believe they had two very different ideas for what was about to happen.

“Did you bring that yourself?”

“I didn’t know if you had any, or if you had enough.” Hermione placed the lube and the towel on the bed. She unfolded the towel and spread it out underneath Draco’s legs. “Since this is our first night back together, I want to show you how grateful I am that you have given me a second chance. Tonight’s for you.”

Draco grabbed a pillow and stuffed it beneath his bum. He held out his hand to pull Hermione back onto the bed and kissed her. Hermione ran her hands over his shoulders and down the front of his chest, then broke away to pull Draco’s shirt over his head. She threw it somewhere but didn’t see where it landed. Hermione threaded her fingers through Draco’s hair and made a trail of wet, sloppy kisses down his throat. Draco tossed his head back and thrust his hips forward, searching for friction.

“Anxious, aren’t you?” teased Hermione.

“Yeah,” breathed Draco, “you have no idea.”

Hermione glanced down at Draco’s cock and said, “I can guess.” She gently pressed her palm into Draco’s chest and guided him until he was lying flat on his back, arse up on the pillow, his legs bracketing her on either side. “This might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Draco preened at her words. She pulled his pants off without any warning and Draco’s cock was leaking precome. Hermione leaned down and wrapped her lips around the tip and sucked.

“Holy _fuck!_ ” he shouted. “Warn a man next time!”

She bobbed her head up and down, popped up for air, then grabbed the bottle of lube. She squirted a Galleon-sized amount, frowned, then poured until her hand was covered in it.

“I hope you aren’t partial to these sheets.”

“Ruin them.”

Draco sat up on his elbows to watch as Hermione traced the tip of one finger around his arsehole once, twice, then slid inside up to the first knuckle.

“Good?”

Draco nodded. Hermione licked a messy stripe from the base of Draco’s cock to the tip. He let out a needy, _ungh_ , and watched as Hermione slowly opened her throat and took him nearly all the way. She made it look easy, like there was a textbook somewhere titled _How to Deepthroat_ ; she must have studied as if it was on the N.E.W.T. Draco grabbed Hermione’s hair and guided her up and down, slowly, as she pressed her finger inside him up to the last knuckle. Draco tugged on her roots and she popped off. Draco’s breath was ragged when he asked,

“How the hell did you learn to do that?”

Hermione shrugged and wiped spit from her mouth, careful not to jostle her other hand.

“I tried everything to get Ron to pay attention to me. Didn’t work, but I learned a few things along the way.” She nodded to her fingers and asked, “Can I go for a second?”

“Fuck, yes.” Draco nodded and insisted, “I can’t watch you do this. I’m going to come too quickly and—”

“Lean back and close your eyes. This is about how you feel, not what you see.”

“Noted.”

Draco fell backward, grabbed another pillow, and pressed it against his face. He felt Hermione’s lips around the tip of his dick as she worked a second finger inside of him. The tight, wet heat of her mouth was enough to drive him mad. He bucked up into her throat and Hermione placed one hand on his hip to steady him, continuing to work that second finger further in. Draco felt the faint burn of muscle stretching out inside of him, and moaned into the pillow.

Hermione didn’t force anything more for awhile. She slowly pulled her fingers out, nearly all the way, before working them in again. She fondled his bollocks and her fingers left a trail of fire in their wake. Draco couldn’t think about anything except where Hermione was touching him. 

She worked in a third finger and Draco threw the pillow aside. He stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep from moaning loud enough for someone to hear. His body had been pulled taut, so as Hermione worked him open Draco just sort of ... snapped. That persistent voice at the back of his head was completely silent as he was floating on the mattress. Time was no longer linear, it was a gelatin that jostled Draco gently from side to side. He could feel the blood flowing throughout his body but didn’t have much control over anything. His entire world had been condensed down to _Hermione_. 

It reminded him vaguely of the time Bastien had convinced him to snort Faerie Dust. The high that made every problem in the world disappear. Is this how it was meant to feel? Every time someone had fucked him it was to use him, utilitarian. Blaise wanted love, Astoria wanted validation, and everybody else had wanted to fuck a Malfoy. Some of them wanted to fuck a Death Eater. Regardless, they had always tried to make Draco into someone he wasn’t.

There was no hiding anymore.

“Relax.” Hermione’s voice cut through the fog in Draco’s brain. “You look so beautiful right now, just keep your eyes closed and try to focus.”

Draco muttered, “Okay,” though when the word left his lips he’d already forgotten what he agreed to. 

“Look at you,” Hermione said, breathless. “You are doing great, so lovely, so _open_ for me.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted against the light.

“I dunno what’s happening.”

Hermione swirled her tongue around the tip of Draco’s dick and he felt a slight burn when she added her fourth finger. A rush of breath was pulled out of him, like he’d been punched in the stomach. Hermione ran her fingers up and down his thigh.

“Viktor used to say that I spend too much time in my head, and this is how he pulled me out of it. You are doing so well, Draco, so pliant and sweet for me. Does it hurt?”

Draco tried to shake his head, but the moment he turned it felt like a bag of sand was attached to his neck and his forehead was pulled toward the mattress. He gathered himself enough to right his head and say,

“It feels odd.”

“Full?” offered Hermione.

“No, not full, just different. Must be different because it’s you.”

Draco’s whole body was running hot. He felt like he was under the weight of seven heavy blankets with no intent to push himself out.

“Alright, Draco, I’m going to try something very different, and talking to me might be a bit difficult. If it hurts at all, I need you to tell me.”

_Hermione.Hermione.Hermione._

The world continued to get smaller and smaller, until it was nothing more than the space around Hermione. She pumped her fingers in and out a few times, long enough for Draco to get used to the slight burn.

“More.”

“Are you sure?”

Draco felt it like a _need,_ the only way the world could feel right again. No more hiding. He wanted this, _ached_ for it. He heard himself say,

“I need this.” 

Then her thumb was inside him.

He opened his eyes wide enough to see he had taken Hermione’s entire hand up to her wrist.

Draco fell backward onto the pillows ... And he kept falling. He had been pushed out of his body and into the darkness of the night sky. He closed his eyes and saw stars glowing in the distance. Draco was falling and he was floating, weightless, with nothing to hold onto. It was euphoric, it was calm, it was ... it was ...

_Intimate._

“‘s this what i’s s’posed to feel like?”

He felt Hermione’s hand circle his dick. 

“What do you think this is?” she asked, teasing him with slow strokes.

“Happiness.” Draco took a deep breath and said, “It’s warm. I feel warm.”

Hermione was everywhere inside him, her hand pushing him outward in uncomfortable ways. But he wanted to be stretched, wanted to expand, to make room for her. She turned her fist the slightest bit and Draco groaned,

“ _Yes. God, yes, all of it._ ”

His orgasm was building, he felt it somewhere in the distance beyond the stars. Draco saw no need to reach for it. Hermione went down on him again, took him nearly to the hilt. She moved her hand and the sensation rippled through his body like a pebble had been dropped in a still pond. Draco spread his legs wide and begged,

“Again.”

Hermione moved her fist back to its original position and everything was hot. Draco was floating and he was drowning. Nothing made any sense. Hermione moved inside him again and her fingers tightened around his cock. Pressure began to build from that place inside him as Hermione’s hand continued to send ripples of warmth through his body. He clutched at the sheets, begging for purchase, not entirely sure the sheets were there. He gasped for air and everything seemed to explode inside of him.

Hermione eased him through it, as Draco felt all that pleasure push him further down into whatever plane of existence Hermione had sent him to. That heavy weight on his chest, the warmth spreading through him ... Draco was fairly certain he was coming, but the pleasure wouldn't end. Every time he could escape enough to breathe, he fell further down ... down ... down ... And Draco stopped fighting it. He floated in the warm nothingness for as long as he could, bright light shining behind his eyes as he clenched down again and again around Hermione’s closed fist.

Once his orgasm subsided the world seemed to crack open. Draco opened his eyes to see Hermione staring at him, fist still shoved well up his arse. His stomach was covered in more come than he’d ever produced in one go. Perhaps more than he ever produced in two. Hermione’s lips were parted in a small sigh.

“That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.” She pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh. “Thank you for letting me do that.”

Draco swallowed all the spit that seemed to have gathered in his mouth and grimaced. The world hadn’t quite come into focus yet. He asked Hermione,

“Did you come?”

“Are you ...? _Yes,_ Draco, well before you did. God, you are so gorgeous.”

Hermione pulled her fingers out slowly. One at first, then another, and then the final three. Draco felt the emptiness in his bones. Hermione wiped her hands off on the towel underneath Draco and crawled up to lie on top of him. Draco pulled her close and said,

“Thank you.”

Hermione pushed some hair out of his face.

“I really wanted you to like it,” Hermione admitted, “but I had no idea it could be like that.”

Draco opened his eyes enough to get a good look at her. Her lips were swollen and rimmed with spittle. Her hair was tangled where Draco’s fingers had pulled on it. Hermione looked completely wrecked and Draco was proud to have done it. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he said,

“You have never looked better than you do right now.”

She blushed.

“It’s alright, you can go to sleep, now.”

“Okay.” Draco mumbled. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Draco Malfoy.”

Then he fell back into the darkness.

**.oOo.**

The warmth disappeared.

It was slow at first, but as Draco worked his way back to consciousness he was cognizant of the emptiness taking hold of him. All that warmth evaporated and cold reality smacked him in the face. Draco had spent all this time trying to fill the void by starving himself, denying everything he needed to survive. Hermione gave him everything he could ever want, and the truth was that he didn’t deserve it. He never had.

What the hell was he thinking? Inviting Hermione into his life, into his _home?_ Begging Hermione to overlook the fact that she was tortured across the hall. They were from completely different worlds; Hermione had always been on the side of the light and Draco was still trying to claw his way out of the darkness. This was too much. She had seen _too much._

Draco came into full consciousness and realized he was crying. He tried to orient himself. He was in his bed and the sheets were fine. Someone had pulled the duvet up to his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, but Hermione had cleaned off his stomach, his dick, and every bit of skin the lube managed to find. He was lying on his back with Hermione curled into his side. 

Then she woke up.

“Draco?” Hermione yawned. It took her mere seconds to notice his tearstained cheeks. “Oh, no, are you alright?”

Draco shook his head.

“I feel empty, like I am nothing.”

“You are everything to me,” insisted Hermione. “You are crashing from the high. This is completely fine, and I am here for you. I promise, Draco, you are _not_ nothing.”

“But—”

“Whatever you believe about yourself, _don’t._ I am right. Now, you’re going to flip over and hold me. Be the big spoon.”

Draco did as she asked. He waited for Hermione to turn then pulled her back flush against his chest. He rested his arm on her waist and the emptiness began to ebb. Slowly, but steadily. Hermione whispered,

“We can stay like this for as long as you need.”

Words tumbled from Draco’s lips.

“What if I never want to let you go?”

“Good, because I never want to let you go.” Hermione covered Draco’s hand with her own. “I’ve never known this kind of love before.”

“This is all I want.” Draco pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You are all that I want, Hermione Granger.”

She sighed softly. Just as Draco began to drift off again, she said,

“When I look at my future, all I see is you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going back and editing the earlier chapters for continuity and grammar, so the first 15 look a lot better now. Hope to have more up for y'all soon. Would be remiss not to mention the fic that inspired this chapter, [Thrust Issues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14852309/chapters/34382510) by Sineala. They are a talented writer and that fic always makes me laugh while shattering me with the angst. ❤️ I've heard that lots of people don't read fics with more than 75 chapters, so that's part of the reason these past couple have been rather lengthy. Got to stuff more into them, I suppose. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that I never have to write anal fisting again.


	54. Dancing in Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco continues to move forward, but Hermione seems to be in a slow downward spiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another website fail on FFN. AO3 is getting this one first again. Chapter takes place on December 4th and 8th, 2008. Title is from the Lady Gaga song which suits Hermione perfectly. I don't think there are any real trigger warnings in this chapter. Sort of feels like I'm getting my groove back, but I'm not quite happy with this one. Very heavy on the dialogue and light on everything else.

Draco woke up the next morning lying on his left side, Hermione pressed against his back.

_So much for being the big spoon._

He closed his eyes and smiled. 

He could get used to this. 

He was home. 

Later that morning, he laid back on the pillows and watched Hermione get dressed. She pulled the slip over her head and grabbed a pair of knickers from inside her bag.

“I will admit, I half-expected to find all my things laid out and put away like the elves do at Hogwarts.”

“Normally, they would have.”

“Normally?” asked Hermione. She stepped into her knickers and wondered, “Why isn’t this normal?”

“You haven’t moved in.”

“Isn’t that what this is, a trial run?”

“Yes, but right now you are a guest. Being a guest does not entitle you to everything you would get as lady of the manor.”

Hermione pulled on a dress that caused Draco to groan low in his throat. A long black dress that flowed to her ankles, with a long slit on the right side. She wore long sleeves with lace detailing at the shoulders; the waist was gathered and cinched with a wide black belt. His eyes followed the hourglass path of her body, wanting nothing more than to pull her back into bed. 

“That neckline is too deep for work.”

“I wasn’t thinking about work when I picked it out.”

“Oh?” teased Draco. “Is this for me, then?”

“Of course it’s for you.” Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and admitted, “I have to leave today, and figured I should leave you with a nice view.”

“So considerate.” Draco crawled down the bed until he was next to Hermione. He pressed a slow kiss to her cheek and said, “I wish I would get to see it tonight.”

“We said one night.”

“One night yesterday. One night today. One night tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and the day after that ...”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Just one.”

“It’s cruel of you to leave me alone the morning after the best sex of my life.”

“The best?”

“You are incomparable, Hermione Granger.”

She laughed and said, “You are insatiable, Draco Malfoy. And if you have a question, make it quick. I am running behind.”

“How did Weasley propose to you?”

All the colour seemed to disappear from Hermione’s face.

“You are so good at ruining a moment, you know that?”

Draco did not reply, only waited for an answer.

“It was at the Burrow. The whole family was there for something, I don’t remember what, but he dropped down to a knee in front of everyone and asked me to marry him.” Hermione shrugged. “I was happy and I said yes.”

Draco took her hand and twined their fingers together.

“So ...” He hesitated. Was this appropriate? “... When I ask you to marry me, do you want me to do it in front of our friends?”

Hermione thought about it for a minute, then shook her head.

“I want you to do it however you think is best. You could roll over in bed one morning, pull out a ring, and I’d say yes. I don’t need any pageantry or fireworks, but it seems like anything with you will involve theatre of some sort.”

“Probably,” agreed Draco.

“And I will say yes when I am ready, I hope you know that.”

“I do, and I don’t think we have to be out of therapy before it happens. I don’t want you rushing through things just so we can have this every day.”

“Okay.”

“Does this feel like home to you?”

Hermione admitted, “I don’t know. I love this, I love waking up with you, but I don’t know if this feels like home, or if I am just so happy to be away from my parents that I am convincing myself it does.”

“Do you feel dark memories lurking around the corner?”

“No, but—”

“Do you like the library?”

“Of course, I love the library!”

“I think you feel guilty about leaving your parents, don’t you?”

Hermione nodded.

“I left them once, uprooted their entire lives and sent them away. They changed their lives again to take care of me, making sure I didn’t spiral too far down whatever path I was on. But they’re not supportive, you know? My dad tries to be, but I know he still thinks there is something wrong with me. Abusing one partner is bad enough, but doing it again ... My mum’s ashamed of me.”

Draco squeezed her hand for a moment.

“She hasn’t said it out loud, but she says other things. I look forward to getting out of the house, but the only time I leave is for work. Or to see Harry. Sometimes to see the twins, but lately I haven’t even been able to do that. Coming to see you has been the only thing getting me through. I had hoped I would get to do what we did last night, and that pushed me forward. But now I can’t do much else. I can’t work on Sundays anymore, so I lay in bed all day. Sometimes I don’t brush my teeth. A few weeks ago, I went to the bathroom and couldn’t bring myself to leave so I slept on the tile.”

Draco tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

“On work days I _have_ to do things, I _have_ to keep the world functioning. When I have the option not to do anything, that is when I can’t do anything.” 

“That is alright. You’re going through a lot right now.”

“But it’s not _me_! I am not supposed to feel like this! Padma has me on a strict potion regimen, but it’s not doing anything. It’s not working! There is something wrong with me, and—”

“Hermione, there is _nothing_ wrong with you.”

She snapped, “How can you say that?”

“Because you saved the fucking world and nobody asked you what it took. I know, because I nearly paid the price for losing the war and nobody asked what it took out of me. You saw what I did to myself and what my friends had to do just to keep me alive. You kept your head above water longer than I did, and you are finally reaching up for help. As long as you keep trying, I promise to carry you through this. _There is nothing wrong with you._ ”

Hermione wiped away the water pooling in the corners of her eyes. Her breath stuttered in her chest before she spoke again.

“The thought of doing what we did last night was all that kept me going through the week. I felt so powerful watching you; I feel so good about what we did.”

“So do I.”

“You were worried that the version of you who came out of recovery, whoever you became without anorexia holding you back ... You were so worried you wouldn’t be the man I wanted. Now you are nearly there and I love you more every day. Every bit of you that I see makes me more proud. I keep losing hold of who I am, and I worry you won’t like who I am after all this.”

Draco kissed the back of Hermione’s hand and said, “I love you because you are brave. You are intelligent, ambitious, and the biggest nerd I have ever met. None of those things will change. I don’t know what will, but I can say without a doubt that I will always love you.”

“One day, I hope to say something that makes you feel the way I feel when you say those things to me.”

“You may not use words, but I feel it every day.”

“No you don’t,” insisted Hermione, “not like this.”

“Then one day you will show me. Right now, your only job is to find something to look forward to. Find a reason to smile, Hermione, just one. It helps.”

She blushed.

“I’m going to be thinking about how gorgeous you looked last night. That will keep me smiling for awhile.”

“Good.” Draco hugged Hermione around her shoulders. “I have never felt as deeply for anyone, Hermione. You have given me the love I was searching for my entire life.”

Hermione rested her head on Draco’s shoulder and relaxed between his arms.

“Promise me something?”

“You know I will give anything you ask of me.”

“Promise me that even on the nights we aren’t together that you’ll fall asleep thinking of me.”

Draco kissed the top of her head and said, “I promise.”

**.oOo.**

Draco plopped into his chair at Penelope’s office and sighed. Penelope looked a bit worried, but she had always been a bit too good at reading him.

“How was your week?”

Draco unbuttoned his coat and replied, “Ups and downs.”

“Ups or downs first?”

Draco tossed his coat onto the other chair and said, “I had the best orgasm of my life last night, then this morning Hermione told me she spends her life outside of work essentially where I was ten months ago.”

Penelope nodded.

“That is a lot to take in. Did you finally have penetrative sex with Hermione, or are you continuing to push that back?”

“She stuffed her hand up my arse; I assume that counts as penetrative sex, if not in the traditional manner.”

“Right,” Penelope dipped her quill in the ink jar and began writing on her parchment. “I believe it is safe to say the two of you are not much for a traditional relationship.”

“That’s fair.”

“Why do you believe it was the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“She understood what I wanted from her,” replied Draco. “I have been so terrified of her seeing me naked, but when she finally did all she could say was that I look stronger. It made me _feel_ stronger when she said it. Then she opened me up literally and figuratively, I suppose. I dunno, I can’t quite say what it was, other than that I lost my grip on reality. She helped me through it, saying how well I was doing and how good I looked doing it. And then ...”

Draco crossed his legs and wondered why he decided to begin with this. 

“Then what?”

“I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was crying. I felt so hopeless, like I did all those months ago. I felt as though I was right back there.”

Penelope nodded.

“That is common when you come out of subspace. The crash from all that adrenaline can leave you feeling empty and burned out.”

“Subspace?”

“Yes, subspace is another state of being for some people during intercourse. It is a nonlinear out-of-body experience that can happen when you open up to a partner. That is a simplified version of it, at least. Since you have had sex with several partners in the past—”

“It wasn’t that many!” Draco insisted, “I am not a common whore, Penelope.”

She softened her tone and apologized.

“I never meant to imply that you were. Even though you have had sex with several different partners, you were hiding from them. They were using you and you let them see what they needed to see. Nothing more. When you finally let Hermione see you, it allowed her to reach a part of you that had been hidden for so long and you were able to access subspace.”

“Hmm.”

“You sound displeased with my assessment.”

Draco scrunched his nose and said, “It sounds submissive.”

“If you are in that sort of relationship, I suppose it can be. In your case, however, I think it is about experiencing a level of communication and intimacy you never believed was possible for yourself.”

“That sounds better.”

“Was Hermione surprised?”

“No, actually, she expected it. That is why she did it, she brought her own lube for Merlin’s sake! In the past, I let men fuck me because I didn’t have to do the work. I wanted them to hurt me because I felt like I deserved it. I let them pull my hair, bite me, even let a few of them hit me when it suited them. I hated my body, why shouldn’t they hate it, too?”

Penelope frowned.

“You never mentioned that before.”

“It’s humiliating.”

“I won’t judge you or your past, Draco.”

“I judge _myself._ ”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t deserve that!” he shouted back. “The things I let them do to me. After the trial, I sought them out because I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to die and letting someone choke me was as close as I could get. That’s the truth, Penelope, I wasn’t having sex. I was trying to get people to fuck my body into something resembling what I believed I was inside. How could I have let myself do that for so long?”

“Perhaps it was because no one told you not to.”

“I should have seen it on my own.” Draco swallowed thickly and admitted, “There were about two years between Gabrielle and Blaise and I was at my worst then. When Blaise and I had sex for the first time, it was so tender. He went down on me and touched me so softly, I can still remember him caressing me; touching the scars on my chest like they were part of me and not something I should be ashamed of. After he came, I hid in the bathroom and cried because I never knew it could feel like that. I never knew anyone could want me like that.”

Draco took a deep, shaky breath in. 

“He didn’t want to hurt me. Sure, he wanted love from me, but that was all. Everyone keeps telling me that I taught Blaise how to love, that I gave him the confidence to pursue Dean. But the truth is that I had no idea what I was doing. I was with him because I trusted him not to hurt me.”

“Have you ever wanted Hermione to hurt you?”

“No.”

“Why do you believe that is?”

“Because hurting me would hurt her.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows and asked, “Are you certain?”

Draco gave it some thought. Why had he never asked Hermione to do those things to him? 

“I feel like a complete person when I am with her. I feel like I deserve all the love she has given me. When we are together it is about being close to her, about being _intimate._ I had people do the worst things to me, Penelope. Horrible, humiliating things and I got off on it because I thought that was the man I deserved to be. Hermione proved to me that I am worth something, and it would not make her feel good to hurt me.”

“You weren’t submitting yourself to her,” replied Penelope, “you were letting Hermione show how much she loves you. That is how you reached subspace, Draco, you opened up for her.”

“I suppose I did.”

“Were you at her house again?”

“No, that is what I wanted to speak about with you today. Hermione spent last night at the manor.”

Penelope bent forward and made a long note on her parchment as she said, “You may have buried the lede a bit.”

“It was a trial run. We wanted to take a night to see whether she could feel comfortable at Malfoy Manor. Given that we were both tortured in there, it has taken a lot for either of us to walk through those doors and feel like we are at home.”

“Did it feel like home to her?”

“Yes,” replied Draco, “it did.”

“How did you parents feel about her presence?”

“I kept them apart. I figured she should only acclimate to one difficult thing at a time. My parents are on another level entirely.”

“How did it feel to have Hermione at home with you?”

Draco grinned.

“For the first time in twelve years, I can see my future. This house feels like our home because we are in it together.”

“At the beginning of our session today, you expressed concern for Hermione’s mental state. Why?”

Draco sighed.

“Hermione says she is losing her grip on who she is, and I believe she is right. She told me Padma has her on some sort of potion regimen, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“It takes time.”

Draco frowned and asked, “Why do I get the feeling you already knew about this?”

“If any medication is prescribed, it goes through me. I am the only one of us licensed by the Ministry to prescribe any physical remedy to our patients. Padma approached me at the beginning of October and requested the regimen. I approved.”

“You’ve known all this time and didn’t tell me?!” shouted Draco. “How could you not tell me that my girlfriend was going through something like this?!”

“We take our patients’ confidentiality very seriously. This is Hermione’s issue, not yours. Additionally, if you recall, at the time Hermione did not consider you her boyfriend. She was keeping you at arm’s length.”

“Oh.” Draco remembered all the letters he wrote, hoping for replies that never came. The flowers he sent to her office, hoping for even a hint of a reply. Perhaps she would mention something to Romilda who would tell Dean who would tell ... “So this is why she kept her distance, isn’t it? She wanted to be better for me and believed she was not well enough.”

“That has been my interpretation of the situation.”

“Oh my God.” Draco let his head fall into his hands. “Then I showed up at her office and yelled at her, told her that she was invalidating my pain. She tried to kiss me and I turned my cheek. She has been dealing with this the entire time? I have been trying so desperately to understand, but I haven’t been seeing her properly at all. _Dammit._ I am still overlooking her pain, aren’t I?”

“No, Draco, I do not believe that at all. I think Hermione is still learning to be completely transparent about her pain. When you opened up to her, perhaps it was the push she needed to finally open up to you.”

“So this is a good thing?”

“Yes, Draco, this is a good thing.”

**.oOo.**

A few days later, Draco found his mother coordinating the house-elves as they decorated the ballroom. Their Christmas party needed to be large enough to accommodate everyone, but small enough that it still felt like a family affair.

“Mother!” he shouted. “I need to speak with you!”

She did not bother to turn around, just waved her hand for him to continue. He waved the letter in the air and said,

“Hermione’s parents have invited us to dinner.”

Narcissa turned to face her son, robes billowing behind her. The elves continued their work, ears perked up. Narcissa frowned and insisted,

“I must have misheard you, my son. The Granger girl’s parents are inviting themselves over to dinner?”

“No,” replied Draco, “ _they_ are inviting _us_ over for dinner. Evidently, now that Hermione is considering moving out they feel we have put it off long enough.”

Narcissa’s face fell and she placed her hands on her hips. Draco asked,

“What is it now?”

“The last time a woman moved in, things did not end well. I fear you two have not given enough thought to what this means.”

“Having Hermione here is the only way this place feels like home.”

Narcissa nodded and said, “I understand. My concern is that over the past several weeks you have become complacent. What about the next time you anger her, Draco? The next time something goes wrong, if you were to once again fall into old habits, how do you know she won’t hurt you the same way Astoria Greengrass did?”

If his father had said these things, Draco would have retaliated. He would have shouted until his throat was raw and begged his father to understand. His mother’s concern was not borne of old prejudice, however, Draco knew that much.

“Hermione has already broken my heart once, and I would survive if she did it again. I did not deserve what she did to me, I know that now. I forgave Hermione because she decided to become a better person. She went back to therapy, overcame her reliance on Calming Draught, and she apologized to me in a way that mattered. I love Hermione and I will ask her to marry me when we are both ready. And Hermione will say yes.”

“Then why have you not asked her?”

“We have to end this chapter before beginning the next one.” Draco explained, “I am not saying I have to be fully recovered, but I have to know that I won't relapse again. I need that confidence in myself. I also have to be able to see Hermione through the rest of this. I will carry her if I must, but I don’t have the strength to do it right now. Our friendship is stronger than it has ever been, but I am not ready to be her husband. I will propose when I am ready.”

Narcissa smiled softly.

“Perhaps you are doing things right this time.”

“I hope so,” replied Draco. “She is worth everything to me.”

Narcissa turned and gestured to the ballroom, where the Christmas wonderland was in progress. 

“Is it up to your expectations?”

“You always exceed expectations.”

“You will need to learn to do this soon, if you are truly to take over as head of the household. No matter how much you care for the Granger girl, I am sure her event planning skills are not nearly up to our standards.”

“No,” chuckled Draco, “she is more of the preparing for disaster sort, not much for parties. That is the role I want, anyway. I have finally found someone comfortable giving it to me.”

“By the sounds of things during your night together, the Granger girl is comfortable giving you a lot more than that.”

Draco felt his face turn bright red.

“I thought we taught you a well-cast Muffliato Charm is more than enough to insulate a room. You never made that mistake with any of the others.”

“It just sort of happened.”

Narcissa asked, “Was it good?”

“All I will say is that she did something that no one else has ever done for me.”

“That must be a limited list.”

“How many ways will you and father come up with to call me a whore? I understand you think poorly of my choices, but I made them. I accept them. I have moved on.”

“I only meant that she must be special.”

“Mhmmm,” Draco grumbled, “sure.”

“At any rate, your father and I have made plans to spend Christmas at the villa in France, so you and your friends will have the manor to yourselves.”

“Oh.” Draco’s shoulders slumped. “I was going to ask if you wanted to join us.”

“Hah!” Narcissa barked out a laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my son, I apologize, it is only that according to the guest list two of your ex-lovers will be in attendance along with your current girlfriend and her ex-husband, who is married to the woman he left her for.”

“Yes, and James Mountcastle just owled over his confirmation. Three ex-lovers for me, no way that can go wrong.”

“You will handle it, my son. It is the Granger girl I worry for.”

“Will you come to dinner, then?”

Narcissa frowned and huffed out, “Why? We have a manor and they have a house. It seems to me that they should come here.”

“Considering how you and father view Muggles, they probably expect to be greeted at the door by a guillotine.”

“It is the twenty-first century, your father and I have evolved.”

“How are they to know?” asked Draco. “I still don’t quite believe it myself, and I think this is a horrible idea. You and father dining with Muggles? The _Prophet_ will kill for photographs.”

“We are your parents first and foremost, my son,” scolded Narcissa, “and I will prove it over dinner. Any woman marrying my son deserves a proper welcome into the family. God knows she escaped the Weasley clan, and we cannot be worse than them.”

“Hermione says they quite liked the Weasleys.”

“They have poor taste then? Good to know.”

Draco looked up at the ceiling and prayed for death. God knows it would have been easier than this. 

“I considered inviting Blaise and Dean as a buffer, but Dean can barely stand to be in the same room as the two of you.”

“A shame, as I liked him. Half-blood, you know, he never could prove it but I knew someone who knew his father. You know there is nothing more important to me than family. Lucius likes him, too, and I only hope we have the opportunity to mend things.”

“You want to mend things with Dean?”

“I was speaking of Blaise, my darling. I miss feeling like his mum. He was such a quiet child, I loved him as my own son.”

“You loved him as a son until we were in a relationship, at which point he became a threat to your Pureblood lineage. Does that sound about right?”

Narcissa directed one of the house-elves to move an ornament on the tree.

“Your father and I were blind and we made mistakes.”

“Do you believe Hermione is a mistake?”

“No! Not at all. I have never seen such love in your eyes before. You have not looked so much alive since you were fourteen. If you give me a grandchild, what should I care for their lineage? The Granger girl will change the world, and there is no one she should want at her side more than you.” Narcissa patted her undereyes and admitted, “Your father and I spent every day in January wondering if it was the day we would finally receive an owl with a black envelope. Had life finally broken you past the point of repair? Would we need to make room in the crypt?”

“I am happy now, mother.”

“Oh, I know. I do see it, the look in your eyes. The strength you have, my son, to survive. To find love after everything you have been through? I cannot ask for anything more. I will not ask more of you.”

“And I am asking you to come to dinner.”

“Then your father and I will be there,” replied Narcissa.

“With good intentions.”

“With only _the best_ of intentions.”


	55. My Home Is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets a firsthand look at the Granger family dynamic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place in mid-December 2008. 
> 
> I had this chapter ready yesterday, then right when I was putting in the HTML Google Docs crashed and all my progress was gone. Six hours obliterated. Fortunately I still had the structure of the chapter and hope I've managed to make it better. Please forgive any errors as I've written and edited this thing twice.
> 
> TW: Emotional Abuse/Manipulation

“I found him like this.”

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as Narcissa’s resigned, exasperated tone echoed throughout the room. He’d been lying on the closet carpet since noon. Theo asked,

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” grumbled Draco. “Most important dinner of my life and I don’t know what to wear.”

“Is this an anorexic thing or are you just being a dramatic git?”

“I am fairly certain it falls into the latter category,” answered Narcissa.

“Just as I am fairly certain Theo was speaking to me,” Draco quipped. “And no, for once my body is not the problem. I don’t know what to wear for a Muggle dinner like this. I’ve never dined at a Muggle house before. Is it casual? Do we need to bring a gift? What shoes do I wear?”

“I’m not much for fashion,” replied Theo, “but I always thought shoes came last and you put the rest of your outfit together first.”

“But I don’t know what to wear!”

Narcissa walked out and Draco heard the door close.

“You always do this,” whined Theo. “Every time something stressful happens, you collapse onto the floor and complain. How about you stop whinging and pick out something decent because there are a million reasons for Hermione’s parents to hate you that have nothing to do with what you’re wearing.”

“Such a comfort.”

“Look, I know her parents and they’re fairly decent people.”

“But I have nothing to wear!”

“Draco, your closet is so big it has a chandelier.” Theo nudged Draco’s bum with the toe of his shoe. “You’re overthinking this.”

“It is too soon.”

“You’ve been in love with Hermione for a decade and a half, I think soon passed somewhere about our sixth year at Hogwarts.”

“Not like this.” Draco sat up and let his head rest between his knees. “Blaise didn’t have any parents for me to meet and I’ve known Astoria’s parents since I was a child. This is the first time I’ve had to meet my lover’s parents. I have to convince them I am safe enough for her, you know? I know they won’t believe her, they will want to see it for themselves. I have to be ... _nonthreatening._ ”

“You only have to show them how much you love Hermione. Do you think they enjoy having her live with them? They _hate it._ She is not well, and if they can toss that responsibility onto you, what makes you think they won’t?”

Draco insisted, “She is not a pet to be tossed around.”

“Of course not, but it is not a responsibility they expected to have. A year of their lives was shifted because of what Hermione did to you. And, look, I was the one who suggested the move. I stand by it, that was the proper move at the time, but I never thought she would be there this long. It’s no good anymore and all three of them know it. The minute you sit down with them, you’ll know it, too.” Theo sat on the floor in front of Draco and insisted, “As long as they know how much you love her, they will agree to make this work.”

Draco looked up at him and asked, “What if I’m not any better for her?”

Theo whacked him upside the head and said, “Don’t say nonsense like that!”

“Ow!”

“Well don’t be stupid!” Theo took a deep breath in and leaned against the wall. “Do you remember what I said when we found out Tracey was pregnant?”

“Yes,” mumbled Draco, “you said, ‘I’m not ready for this.’”

“And when we found out it was twins?”

“You said, ‘Fucking hell, now I’ve got to buy two of everything.’”

“Yes,” Theo agreed, “ _and_ I was even less ready than I was before. I came to you and said, ‘I can’t do this without you.’ You helped us deal with kids we didn’t plan for and a life we no longer got to live. We probably could’ve gotten through it without you, but it would have taken a lot of work and put a strain on our marriage. You were there so we never had to find out. Hermione is strong enough to get through this without you. She needs you to say she doesn’t have to be that strong. It is alright for her to hurt because you’re gonna be there for her. The Grangers will see that, they’re smart people.”

“I never expected Hermione’s parents to be idiots.”

“Exactly, so wear something nice and snog her when you walk through the door. They’ll get the message.”

Draco looked Theo in the eyes and insisted, “You could have raised the twins without me.”

“Yeah, and I spent the bulk of the past two years worried I was going to find out just how true that is.”

That hit Draco like a Bludger to the face. He curled into himself and grumbled,

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be sorry, be proud that you made it through.”

“Have I?” asked Draco. “Or am I just convincing myself that I’m getting well?”

“Maybe that’s part of it. But you eat three meals a day, you run at least forty-five kilometres a week, and you’re about to ask the love of your life to move in with you.”

“I eat three meals every day because I know if I don’t, I will fall right back into that pattern of skipping meals. I have to keep going forward because the only other direction lands me at rock bottom again.”

“Who the bloody hell cares why you’re doing it?”

Draco frowned and said, “My therapist, for one.”

“Right, okay,” Theo huffed. He shifted on the floor so he was right in front of Draco and said, “I’m not your therapist, I’m your brother. All I can see is the man in front of me, and you look so much happier than you were this time last year. I don’t give much of a fuck _why_ you’re getting better.”

He didn’t get it. Theo had never been this low, so how could he ever understand the temptation? The constant work Draco did to keep Astoria’s voice on mute every hour of the day. 

“Tonight will be difficult.”

“The two of you will get through it together.”

Theo always meant well, but there was a distance between what Theo was willing to see and what Draco was afraid could happen. If he expressed fear of a certain outcome, the answer was always simply, “That won’t happen.” It hadn’t yet, but the _what if_ always echoed.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“That has been known to happen.”

“As much fun as this little pep talk has been,” Draco said, “you haven’t helped me with my problem.”

“Which is ... ?”

“What am I going to wear?”

**.oOo.**

Theo left.

Draco walked around his closet once, twice, and stopped halfway through the third pass. Picking out clothes was like staring into a cupboard to find something to eat: process of elimination.

No jeans.

Black was for funerals, the Ministry, and intimidating tenants who were months late on payment. Black was the colour of Death Eaters. _His_ colour.

No black.

No jumpers, sweaters, or knits.

That was half his closet accounted for. Draco spotted something out of the corner of his eye. There was a rack at the back full of clothes he hadn’t worn. Everything the house-elves assumed he wouldn’t need for many months because he purchased a bunch of things that fit and then refused to wear them. Right there, in the middle of it all, one forest green sleeve was pushed out the slightest bit more than the others.

Draco walked over and pulled the hanger off the rack. He remembered this suit, purchased on a shopping trip after his night with James Mountcastle. Draco had thought, “If he can touch me like that, maybe my body isn’t as awful as I believe it is.” The minute he began looking at the sizes on tags, however, that thought was drowned out by a cacophony of less-favourable voices in his head.

This suit was the only thing Draco found that day. He ran the palm of his hand along the seam of one sleeve, fabric so soft to the touch. Astoria said he looked good in green, once. Not everything about their time together was horrible; Draco would hold onto green. 

He hung the suit on the back of the door and hunted for an appropriate shirt to go underneath. He had eliminated knits, but a white button-down wasn’t as warm as he would prefer. Draco plucked a white turtleneck from one of the drawers and tossed it onto his shoulder. 

_Socks._

_Socks. Socks. Socks._

Maroon. Draco grabbed the first pair of wine-coloured socks he spotted in another drawer, Summoned the suit from the door, and made his way into the bathroom. He hung everything as neatly as he could and sat at the vanity. He rested his elbows on the countertop and placed his head in his hands. Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out. 

What would Hermione’s parents see when he walked through the door? They would immediately notice the difference between him and Weasley. Best keep his hair as simple as possible; it was never a positive first impression if his hair was the focus. Then there was his father. How long would this dinner last before Lucius decided to make a quip about Muggle cooking? How long before Narcissa passively insulted their house? God, they might not make it through the first course. Did Muggles eat in courses? 

Would they have dessert?

Oh, God, _dessert._

Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Penelope said these moments required “positive affirmation.” What good would come out of this? Any moment with Hermione was time well spent. If her parents could see the depth of his feelings for Hermione, how much he cared for her, perhaps they would accept his feelings as they were. Maybe they saw the same sort of future he wanted for her. There was hope for them to approve of Hermione moving in with him and try to make their families work in tandem.

Then again, Draco’s parents hadn’t seen him with Hermione. This would be the first time he could show them how much love he had to give. He could prove that they hadn’t ruined him. He still had hope for a future and a family to be proud of. He was already so goddamn proud of Hermione.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror and resolved to do right by her. That was all he could control. He combed his hair out slowly, still wary of losing more than was strictly necessary. He gathered his hair into a low ponytail and smoothed out the top. Twisted it all around one finger then pinned the hell out of it. Once secured, he tucked the tail end into the bottom of the twist and pinned it. He patted some Sleekeazy’s along the edges to keep back the flyaways. 

Simple.

Good enough.

Deep breath in, hold, and a slow breath out.

Draco unbuttoned his sweater and let it fall to the floor. He pushed the joggers down and stepped out of them, kicked them in the general direction of the sweater. Draco’s shoulders slumped upon realizing he had to get the turtleneck over his head without ruining his hair. The first of what he presumed would be several idiotic decisions throughout the evening. He was so nervous he could hardly think straight. 

He stretched out the neck and managed to get the jumper over his head without squishing the twist beyond repair. He pulled the trousers off the hanger and stepped inside each leg, left first then the right. He pulled them up to his hips, pushed the turtleneck below the waistband, and fastened the trousers. Socks followed, left first and then the right.

Draco grabbed the suit hanger, jacket still buttoned, and walked back into the closet.

_Shoes._

Brushed grey derby shoes. He sat on the nearest chair and laced them up, left first and then the right. He stood up and pulled the jacket off the hanger. He put his arms through the sleeves and shrugged it on. He felt different as he buttoned the jacket. Not because of his increasingly protruding stomach, but because of how everything sat on his body in a way that felt right. Draco walked to the centre of the closet and surveyed himself in one of the full-length mirrors.

Oh.

So that was what everyone else saw when they looked at him? It certainly wasn’t the same, but he held himself differently. Putting on something that felt good, that felt _right_? Draco hadn’t felt like this in longer than he cared to remember. It was meant to be like this, putting on clothes and feeling at home in them. The past two years of recovery had been a cycle of burying himself in jumpers or t-shirts, or jumpers _and_ t-shirts depending on the season. This was what he was meant to look like ... more or less.

For the first time since he walked into Penelope’s office nearly two years earlier, Draco saw a version of himself in the mirror that he could accept.

**.oOo.**

Draco stood out front of the Granger house, staring at the door.

“Son,” Lucius said, “you do realize you have to knock on the door?”

Draco nodded.

“He is nervous, darling, give him a moment.”

“What is there to be nervous about?”

“I want them to like me.” Draco, eyes still on the door, said, “I want so desperately for them to like me.”

“They cannot enjoy our company if they are greeted at the door by three blocks of ice.”

“I know! I just need a moment.” Draco admitted, “I feel like I may vomit.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, pull yourself together!”

“Lucius, be gentle.”

“If what he says is true, the Granger girl already loves him. That is the difficult part and the rest is logistics.”

“ _Logistics?_ Is that why I married you?” Narcissa teased. “I suppose all the gifts you sent and begging my parents for permission to marry me were just logistics, then?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Our son is nervous about us, darling, so we will stand here until he is ready.”

_Fuckfuckfuck._

“Okay,” said, Draco, “I can do this. We can do this.”

“Yes,” Lucius agreed, “as soon as you knock on the door.”

Draco turned to say, “Promise you will try your best?”

“I promise.”

“Then I am ready.”

Draco walked up the steps, knocked on the door, and Hermione opened it before he could lower his fist. She jumped into Draco’s arms and he held her against his chest so her toes dangled above the floor. She hugged Draco around his shoulders and said,

“This was a stupid idea.”

“Yes,” Draco put Hermione back on the ground.”

“But you’re here now. With your parents.” Hermione’s smile did not reach her eyes. She nodded to them and said, “Hello.”

Lucius asked, “May we come in?”

“Oh!” Hermione beckoned them through the door. “Sorry, of course. I’ll take your coats.”

Draco’s parents followed him into the entryway and the front door closed behind them of its own accord. There was a sort of finality when the lock clicked into place. No backing out. Hermione rached for their coats and said,

“The two of you look exactly as I remember.”

Lucius said, “You look smaller.”

“Lovely,” Narcissa interjected, “he meant to say you look lovely.”

“No, it’s fine.” Hermione opened the closet door and tossed the coats inside where they hung themselves on hangers. “I am not the same.”

Draco groaned, “We are off to a fantastic start.”

Narcissa insisted, “You do look lovely, Miss Granger. That dress is nice, burgundy suits you, and you pulled your hair back.”

Draco shrugged off his coat and handed it to Hermione.

“I like your hair down, for the record.”

Hermione took Draco’s coat and laughed.

“Look at us, we look like Christma!” She stepped back to give Draco a once-over. “Wow, you look amazing. You look ...” Hermione shook her head. “ _Wow._ This is how I see you every day, and I am so happy my parents will get to see it, too.” She watched as his coat hung itself in the closet, then she closed the door. “Are we ready for this?”

“Honestly?” I am still a bit nauseous, but the sooner this starts the sooner it’s over.”

“Yes, my beautiful, pragmatic boyfriend.” She offered her hand and said, “Let’s go.”

Draco held her hand as she led him into the dining room, with his parents close behind. It looked the same as it did the first time Draco saw it, the night he forgave Hermione. The night they agreed to move forward together. Her parents stood against the far wall.

Draco had never pictured Hermione’s mother. The woman in front of him looked at Draco like she had pictured him and found something unexpected. He couldn’t tell whether he was a pleasant surprise or, as he presumed, a disappointment. Mrs. Granger had Hermine’s curls and a quiet ferocity in her demeanour that had once been so loud in Hermione. Mrs. Granger was nearly as tall as her husband, who seemed upon first glance to be her opposite. He had a friendly face, short grey hair, and a full beard. Hermione clearly took after her mother, but she had her father’s wide, curious eyes.

There was a long pause as the parents sized each other up, like a standoff before a duel. Narcissa eyed Mr. Granger slowly, taking him in. He did not shrink under her scrutiny, it somehow seemed to make him glow even more. His smile never wavered. Narcissa tilted her head to one side and looked down toward Mr. Granger’s feet.

“You have interesting shoes.”

“You think?” Mr. Granger replied, excited. “I’m not much for fashion, I leave that to Abby. I like to wear slip-on shoes but for more formal things like this, she says they’re not proper enough. With that in mind ...” Mr. Granger pulled his foot out of his shoe and pushed in the back quarter of his shoe so it was lying flat. “It turns into a slip-on!”

Narcissa’s eyes widened as she said, “Ingenious.”

“Isn’t it?”

Mrs. Granger glanced upward, as if begging the heavens to take her away from this conversation. Draco empathized heavily. An awkward silence settled over the room, so Draco nudged Hermione’s shoulder and asked,

“If these are your parents, why the hell are you so short?”

Mr. Granger laughed and a smile ghosted across Mrs. Granger’s face. Hermione rolled her eyes in playful exasperation. Draco stepped away and offered his hand to each of her parents in turn.

“My name is Draco and It is nice to finally meet you both.” He nodded behind him and said, “These are my parents, Lucius and Narcissa.”

She accepted the handshake and said, “You’re more handsome than I expected.”

Draco frowned.

“Thank you?”

“In fact, you’re all very ... blond.”

Blond. _Blond._ Draco dropped his hold on her hand and stepped away. He couldn’t help but feel “blond” meant something else. Certainly not anything flattering.

Dinner was lemon roasted chicken, green beans, and potatoes. Simple was better, and the house-elves had a secondary dinner ready back at the manor. Draco had laughed at the request, but quickly realized this meal was a bit too homely for his parents. Thankfully, Lucius and Narcissa kept their disdain for the meal to a minimum. Hermione kept tapping the toe of her shoe beneath the table, anxiety building; it had been too amicable a meal, eventually something would give.

“So, Draco,” Mr. Granger said, “tell us about yourself. Hermione has not been particularly forthcoming.”

“I, um ...” Draco shrugged. “There is not much to say. Not much positive, anyhow.”

Mrs. Granger asked, “What do you do for work? Or are you so obscenely wealthy you have no need to work?”

Lucius answered, “Both.”

“Right.” Draco shot a quick glare at his father. “Our family owns many commercial properties throughout Wizarding England. I run the business.”

“How much commercial property do you own?”

Draco nodded to his father, since that was a question best put to him. Draco hadn’t touched any appraisals in well over a year.

“All of Knockturn Alley except that decrepit slug repellent shop. Several properties in Ravenswood, a few in Horizont Alley, and many more elsewhere. All in total, the commercial properties were most recently valued at £450 million. We own another hundred million in residential properties here and in France. Plus the manor and our other assets, the estate is valued at well over £800 million. Lucius sipped some water and added, “It used to be valued over a billion.”

“Father,” Draco warned, “ _don’t._ ”

“Fine.”

The table descended into awkward silence. Hermione thought to mention,

“Draco was the best man, of sorts, at Dean’s wedding.”

“Oh!” Mr. Granger lit up. “We love Dean. Such a great young man. He found a special love with Blaise. Abby loves Blaise because he cooks every time he comes over.”

“I do miss having him at the manor,” said Narcissa. “He was always so earnest, searching for someone to call family.”

“You were close to Blaise?”

“Yes,” said Lucius, “then he began dating our son and it nearly destroyed everything.”

“No,” spat Draco, “the two of you destroyed everything.”

“Apologies,” Mrs. Granger cut in, “but I thought your son was an only child.”

Narcissa confirmed, “He is our only child.”

“Then ...” Mr. Granger slowly put the pieces together. “Draco, here, dated Blaise Zabini?”

Recognition dawned on their faces and Draco’s heart fell out of his bum and landed somewhere on the floor. Hermione hadn’t told them. He had taken it for granted, gotten used to his family’s acceptance. It never occurred to him that the Grangers would look down on him for his sexuality, not when they had so many other reasons to judge him. It always seemed to circle back around to this. Mr. Granger realized,

“You must be the ex-boyfriend! Good God, he’s told us all about you! He never mentioned your name, but it does make sense. Wow,” Mr. Granger sighed, “everything you two went through. He was devastated when you broke up. That boy speaks so highly of you.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.” Draco used his trousers to wipe the sweat off his hands. “I thought you were upset that I was with him.”

“Oh, no, that’s not surprising,” said Mrs. Granger. “We knew you were a bit bent, your hair is too nice.”

“Oh my God, mum!” Hermione looked mortified. “You can’t just say that about my boyfriend!”

Lucius mumbled, “I told you, it is always the hair.”

“I will not apologize for taking care of my hair!”

Mr. Granger said, “I think we have strayed from the course a bit.”

Mrs. Granger looked at Draco and asked, “How the hell did you let that man get away?”

“Blaise?”

“Yes, Blaise.”

Draco shrugged. 

“The truth is that I couldn’t love him the way he deserved. I think everyone can see Dean is better for him, anyway.”

“That does not seem like the complete answer. I think you are holding something back.”

“With respect, Mrs. Granger, I do not owe you an explanation for anything that happened with Blaise. He is my best friend but I wasn’t honest with him because he did not make me feel safe in the way Hermione has. I have never loved anyone the way I love your daughter.”

Hermione placed her hand on his knee and smiled up at him. Draco blushed.

“I probably didn’t need to say that.”

“Hermione, honey?” said Mr. Granger. “I like him.”

Mrs. Granger added, “He is different from Ron.”

“I should hope so!”

Narcissa looked affronted that anyone could ever think to compare her son to a Weasley. Draco swallowed a laugh.

“We quite liked the Weasley boy,” said Mr. Granger. “We particularly liked Molly and Arthur. We were terrified when we got Hermione’s Hogwarts letter. How can you prepare your child for a world you know nothing about? Molly and Arthur helped us so much during those years. They taught us about the post, subscribed us to the _Daily Prophet_ , even put us in touch with other non-magical parents.”

“And they were still here when we came back from Australia. Unlike most of our friends, our practice, and our _house_.”

There it was, the root of this hostility. It had nothing to do with Draco, his sexuality, or their relationship. Everything could be traced back to one decision Hermione made at seventeen. Draco was the latest in a string of seemingly foolish decisions her parents had no hope to understand. Sending them to Australia, marrying Ron Weasley, divorcing Ron Weasley, dating Draco Malfoy ... It all must have seemed so irresponsible to them. He said,

“I am grateful you were here for Hermione when I couldn’t be. I know it could not have been easy for you.”

“It is not the first time Hermione has cost us a year of our lives.”

“ _Abby!”_ Mr. Granger hissed.

“No, Jack, if these people intend to welcome Hermione into their family, they deserve to know how our daughter treats the people she calls family. She will do whatever she believes is right, regardless of the opinions of the people that decision will impact.”

“Speaking for myself,” said Draco, “I believe Hermione has the strength of her conviction and given the circumstances she did the only thing she could do.”

“No, Mr. Malfoy, Hermione did the only thing she could do to win. There is a difference.”

“If I may.” Lucius placed his glass on the table and said, “We looked for you. Your daughter was one of the most valuable targets in the world. When we failed to find her, we looked for you as a way to draw them out. The final year of the war was not about prejudice, it was about survival. Narcissa and I would have done anything as long as He promised to spare Draco’s life. If we found you, perhaps you would have ended up in the cellar, but I fear the He may have had a more creative use for you.”

“And you would know,” said Mr. Granger. “Because you hunted our daughter, and now you sit across from her as if everything is fine.”

“My husband and I made mistakes. We will be the first to admit that prejudice does not die, it lingers below the surface. Our son has managed to overcome that, and we are here because he loves your daughter. He went through hell and no one cared because he was on the losing side of the war. My son has not known peace until he found it with Hermione, and I will not take that for him. I have no care for blood status as long as my son is happy.” Narcissa was resolute when she said, “If Hermione wishes to move into the manor, we will do everything possible to make it feel like home. We owe that to our son.”

Draco hated that his mother spoke about him like he was absent. Mr. Granger replied,

“I appreciate your reasoning. I also believe Hermione when she says this is what she wants.”

Narcissa added, “I see strength in both of them.”

“I am not sure I see strength in a young man rekindling a relationship with a woman who has been repeatedly violent toward her partners.”

There was a look of resignation on Hermione’s face, almost as if she believed her mother was right. Lucius hummed his agreement while Hermione’s father and Narcissa made no move to disagree. Draco gently placed his fork on the table and took a deep, slow breath. Anger was no way to make his point; Merlin knew the Grangers had enough reasons to be angry at him. How could they doubt Hermione like this? They made her feel as if she had failed him.

“I believe,” Draco said, “you are under the impression I am a weak-willed man, desperate for someone to love me.”

Mrs. Granger replied, “Something of that sort.”

“When I ran into Hermione two years ago, we didn’t meet and think, ‘We should fall in love.’ I looked at Hermione and saw someone just as troubled as I was. Haunted, really, by two different sides of the same war. We became friends because it is easier to open yourself up to someone as broken as you are.” Draco tugged on the cuff of one shirtsleeve then looked at Mrs. Granger to say, “I am a bisexual man recovering from anorexia, and Hermione never judged me for either of those things when everyone else in my life did.”

Hermione leaned over and whispered, “You don’t need to defend me, I’m fine.”

“No,” replied Draco, “because it’s not you I am defending.” He turned to face Mrs. Granger full-on and insisted, “I used to believe I was weak. I thought I was worthless, hated myself to the point I wanted to die. Hermione was the person who showed me that I have value. She was the only one who managed to shine through all that darkness, so when she hit me my entire world came crashing down.”

“Yet, you are here,” said Mrs. Granger. “I know my daughter is capable of great things, but Hermione also tends to overlook the wishes of the people she loves if she believes she knows what is best.”

“Are we all finished with plates?” asked Hermione. She grabbed for everyone’s plates and stacked them. “I’m going to take these to the kitchen.”

They all watched her go. Moments later he heard the sound of running water. What could he do? Should he go after her, or did she need to be alone? Either way, he supposed this conversation could not be left unfinished.

“With respect, Mrs. Granger, you aren’t looking at your daughter with any true sense of the situation. I left Hermione and she respected my decision by keeping her distance. When I came back, it was because I wanted to see my friend. The reason I gave Hermione a second chance was because she asked for my forgiveness in a way that mattered.”

“I do not understand why you would do that.”

“I believe I should point out that Hermione did not hit me to punish me. She didn’t hit me out of malice or a need for power, she hit me because she lost control. Hermione was angry that I lied to her, she lost control of her magic, and I paid the price for it.”

Mr. Granger shifted anxiously in his seat and admitted, “I am not sure that, in this case, intent matters.”

“Perhaps not,” Draco agreed, “but Hermione earned my forgiveness because instead of feeling like rubbish and wallowing in it, she went back to therapy and made herself better. Hermione made herself _safer_. My worth as a person was not contingent upon Hermione, but I wanted her in my life and she made it so we could be together. We have worked for this relationship because we want it. Hermione saw me through those moments when I thought I couldn’t move forward, and I am happy to do the same for her.”

“I like that answer.”

“I do like you,” said Mrs. Granger. “The Weasley boy, he never understood that being married to Hermione is a different battle than it is to be her friend. My daughter is strong and powerful and the same qualities that have distanced her from us will serve her well in changing the world. Jack and I know that. She needs someone who is willing to be a foundation for her to stand on. Someone who can help her achieve everything she is meant to do.”

Draco insisted, “I want nothing more than to be that for her.”

“That is what worries me, because we know what she did to Ron Weasley. We know what she did to you. So when you say you trust her not to do it again, I am not sure I can take your word for it. My daughter is one bad day away from breaking apart in a way I am not sure we could ever fix. Living here is no good for her, and I can tell every time she has been around you because she comes home and it is as though the world has, for a moment, been lifted off her shoulders. I want her to be happy, I want to see her smile, I want her to get what she wants. It’s all any decent parent wants for their child.”

Draco frowned.

“I was incredibly anxious about this dinner because I wanted you to like me. However, I can see that is not the obstacle I needed to overcome. The reason you invited me over is not so you could see me with your daughter, but the opposite. You wanted to see how Hermione acts around me.”

The Grangers nodded in confirmation. Draco was furious. How could Hermione possibly move forward when her parents were there every day reminding her of her most difficult choices and her most damning mistakes? God, she had to be suffocating.

“Hermione cares about people. She saw value in me because she cares for people and creatures whom no one else would spare a single thought. It is why she took on one of the most difficult jobs in the Ministry. She is holding the world together and clinging to sanity with her goddamn fingernails!”

“We see that,” replied Mr. Granger.

“But you cannot fix it. I want to be there for her every day, helping her through whatever this is. I am damaged goods, but Hermione loves me anyway and I love her with everything I have. When I look at her I see a woman who has dedicated her life to what she knows is right. I am proud of her for that, and I think you should be, too.” He stood up and said, “Thank you for having me this evening.”

Draco turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen where he found Hermione staring into the sink, water still running. He stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She slowly relaxed beneath his fingers. Draco kissed her cheek and noticed her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. He asked,

“Are you suffocating here?”

She nodded.

“Would you like to move in with me?”

Another nod. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close.

“My home is yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday marked two years that I've been in recovery, so happy ano-versary to me! I woke up today to some awful comments over on FFN and, honestly, if you make it over 60K words into a fic it doesn't matter what words you leave in a review because I'm still getting those hits, babyboo. Hope y'all are well.


	56. Crucial Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #CrucialConversations with Hermione, Harry, and Penelope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place in mid-December. No TWs for this chapter! Draco's in a better place. Please forgive any errors as this chapter has only been lightly edited.

Two boxes.

Hermione’s entire life fit into two boxes. Moving her into the manor was too easy. The most difficult part was the closet, and Hermione packed that herself. Standing there in that awful grey bedroom, Draco had asked,

“Where are the rest of your things?”

“What things?”

“The things you had in your house, Hermione. That nice rug you had underneath the table in the sitting room? The mirror above the fireplace and those salt and pepper shakers shaped like tiny owls? You know, the things that made the house yours. Where are they?”

“I didn’t keep them.” She pulled her knees up toward her chest. “It felt like part of a life that wasn’t mine anymore.”

“Oh.”

Hermione had given up. That grey room was a reflection of who she had become.

That Monday, after work, Hermione came home to Malfoy Manor. She fell backward onto their bed with a quiet “Oof!” Draco closed his eyes and leaned back against a wall. _Focus focus focus._ Hermione needed him to be there for her, to help her through this. How could he do that? Draco opened his eyes and Hermione was still staring at the floor. She was sitting on the end of his bed, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Are we really doing this?” she asked.

“Only if you want to.”

She nodded.

“I only thought that being here would instantly make me feel better. I can breathe now, but I’m not any better.” Hermione sighed and admitted, “The Romilda thing surprised me, and I am working through that.”

Gabriel and Romilda eloped. Cancelled the wedding and sent out letters saying they didn’t need a ceremony. Which was fine, it suited them. Draco wasn’t as envious as he thought he would be. Hermione was moving in. He would wake up to her _every day_. No, he was happy for Gabe and Romilda but he didn’t envy them. Not anymore.

“What troubles you about it?”

“The thought of being too slow, you know? They couldn’t wait. That is all I keep asking you to do now is _wait wait wait_ and what if I am too slow?”

Draco laughed and walked closer to where Hermione sat on the bed.

“I said the same thing when we did this the first time, do you remember?”

“Shoe is on the other foot and I don’t like it much.”

“The truth, Hermione, is that we need this to be slow. We have to be careful and I am alright with it. When I marry you, I want it to be the happiest version of me marrying the happiest version of you. I know there is nowhere for me but forward, and I want to help you feel the same way.”

Hermione reached out to take Draco’s hand and said, “I know.”

“Shame, though, since I was planning to see Gabriel this week.”

“Why?”

“I think I want to cut it off again.” Draco shrugged. “People seem to like it better short.”

“no!” Hermione squeezed his hand and insisted, “No. Is this about what my mum said?”

“It’s not just your mum, is it? There is my father, the papers, Astoria—”

“Stop.” Hermione shook her head. “I may not know exactly who I am right now, but I know I love you so much, Draco, more than I have words to say. This is what my mum does, she says something she wants to linger. It makes you doubt yourself and change because that idea makes part of you feel like it doesn’t belong. And I know she does it because she believes that is what’s best. She doesn’t do it to be mean, but it hurts anyway. I know you like having long hair; don’t let her take that away from you.”

Draco sat next to her on the bed and said, “It seems to mean different things to everyone, and the only things anyone seems to agree on is that it’s pretty. When they say ‘pretty’ they mean ‘bent’ and when they think ‘bent’ they assume ‘gay.’ I am tired of my hair confusing people.”

“But you like it.”

“Obviously.”

Hermione moved to sit on Draco’s lap and asked, “Can I tell you why I like your hair?”

He nodded. He hugged Hermione around her waist and pulled her closer as she tried to find the proper words.

“So you ...” Hermione waved her hands around, frustrated. “Padma has me trying to express things better. I ‘rely too much on logic and am afraid to express emotion,’ or something like that.”

Draco softly kissed her cheek.

“Take your time.”

“You cut it when you began recovery. It was you taking control of yourself, that was how you described it. Perhaps it is because I didn’t see you all those months and you showed up in my life again looking so much more secure, and your hair was much longer. To me, your hair shows how strong you are and how far you’ve come. It also gives me hope that eventually I will be able to do the same.”

Draco reassured her that, “You will.”

“Everything seems so far out of reach now. All the time I think about how I can finally see what I want in my future. This, you know, being with you. Coming home to you. A career that means something to me.”

“I quite like the sound of that.”

“I keep looking at that future but it feels so impossible to get there. You see, with Ronald everything was a chore. All the things that felt wrong with him feel right with you. I want to be that person but I don’t know how to be.”

“Do you want my opinion?”

“Yes, Hermione nodded, “I do.”

“We both know you will eventually be that person, but you are still running. You have to take time to breathe and trust yourself, trust that you will end up where you are meant to be.”

“If I stop running I will fall hard.”

“Then do it,” replied Draco. “I promised to carry you through this and I meant it. My heart has never been as full as it is right now.”

“But I am so drained all the time.” Hermione revealed, “I am so exhausted I haven’t even found your Christmas present.”

Draco laughed.

“There are a few things you can give me that don’t cost anything. In fact, you wouldn’t even need to leave this room.”

“You are insatiable, Draco Malfoy.”

“Yes, because you are my incredible, powerful girlfriend.”

Hermione rested her head on Draco’s shoulder and laughed.

“Truly, though, what do you want for Christmas?”

**.oOo.**

The next day, Draco stood up from his chair in the lobby of Clearwater & Patil when Potter walked out of his therapy session. He looked a bit shaken, so Draco patted his shoulder and insisted,

“It gets easier with time.”

Potter didn’t reply, just pulled on his coat and followed Draco out the door. Draco looked down the block when his feet hit the ground.

“We are going shopping.”

“Are we?” asked Potter. He followed Draco down the stairs. “What for?”

“Hermione’s Christmas present.”

“Oh. What’re you getting her?”

As they headed into the shopping bit of Helga’s Kitchen. Draco grumbled,

“I have no idea.”

“So ... She’s moved in then?”

“Yeah.” Draco grinned. “Yes, she has. Yesterday.”

“How’s that?”

“Too soon to tell. She is struggling to open up, but she’s trying. Hermione needs to slow down, she works constantly and forgets to take care of herself.”

“I am happy she has you to hold onto. Right now I am afraid to hold onto Gin. Therapy was mostly about her today, what it is that I haven’t been telling her.”

“Oi,” Draco hissed. “Secrets always manage to eat away at a relationship. I am a bit of an authority on that.”

“That’s why I want to talk to you, because you’re going to be the only person who can give me an honest answer.”

Draco frowned as they turned onto a street that was basically deserted, the shops still adjusting so early in the morning. He glanced down at Potter and slowed his pace.

“You want to talk to me about it?”

“I _have_ to talk to you about it. You’re my only option.”

“Flattering.”

Potter pushed his glasses further up his nose and ran one hand through his hair.

“When I sat with you a few weeks ago, Clearwater outlined what it means for you to be bisexual. It brought back some things for me. See, fourth year ...” He mumbled, “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”

“Spit it out then!”

“I liked Cedric the same way I liked Cho. Exactly the same way.”

“Oh. I see.”

“So it’s not the same as you, but I’ve liked blokes before. And I’ve never told anyone that until I told my therapist today. My nightmares, it’s Voldemort’s voice but it’s Cedric’s eyes. His dead eyes, he was just lying there on the ground, staring at me.” Potter winced. “Cho got to grieve him, but I didn’t do it properly because no one knew.”

“That’s awful.” Draco couldn’t even imagine. “I am so sorry for you.”

“It was worse for him.”

Draco laughed.

“Are you ashamed of it?”

“No, just confused. I feel like I should tell Gin, but I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Potter shrugged.

“What if she looks at me differently?”

“Have you even snogged a man before?” asked Draco.

Potter didn’t say anything but his cheeks turned pink.

“You’re blushing!”

“You’re a prick.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “Honestly, if your wife loves you I don’t think this will matter much to her. It clearly matters to you, though, and I imagine it would be nice to tell her about the nightmares and why they are so painful for you.”

“Yeah, Gin’s great like that.”

“So why are you worried?”

“Because it feels like I’ve been keeping a secret from her, and that’s not right.”

Draco stopped walking, placed his hands on Potter’s shoulders and said,

“When you come out to people, the first question is always, ‘Are you, though?’ They believe you are confused or rebelling against something. If you do it before you are ready then you run the risk of letting the world convince you that you’re wrong. If you waited until now, then it is because you needed to. Your wife will see that.”

Potter nodded.

“You’re right.”

“I don’t know Ginevra, but I do know she is not the sort of person who lets the world tell her how to feel. If she was, she wouldn’t have married your sorry arse.”

Potter laughed. Draco could see relief starting to poke through, and he remembered what that had been like. Finally telling someone.

“Since we’ll be at your home for Christmas, bit of advice, don’t call her Ginevra. She’ll curse you and won’t feel the slightest bit bad about it.”

“Noted.”

“And thanks for ...” He waved his hand around aimlessly. “This.”

“Not to worry, Potter, if there’s one area in which I can claim to be an expert, it’s this.”

Potter did a complete turn to scan the shops around the street. Admittedly, none of the shops screamed Hermione. There were a few food shops, a tattoo studio, and a book shop on the block.

“Hopefully you’ve got something else in mind. Unless you plan to get Hermione a book she doesn’t need or plan to tattoo her name across your arse, I don’t think you’ll find a gift here.”

_No way._

It was mad.

Completely mad.

Draco grinned and said, “You’ve given me an idea.”

“If you get her name tattooed on your bum, you know she’ll tell us about it.” Potter frowned. “Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.”

**.oOo.**

Draco plopped into his chair in Penelope’s office on Thursday with a massive smile on his face. She smiled back at him.

“You seem rather cheerful today.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“I think the three of you should change the name of your business.”

“Hmm.” Penelope humoured him. “You think ‘Clearwater & Patil’ doesn’t say who we are quite clearly enough?’”

“I am thinking something a bit more fun.”

“Ah.”

“3 Ps in a Pod.” Draco leaned back in his chair and said, “It’s perfect.”

“I don’t underst—Ah.” Penelope laughed. She nodded and replied, “ _P_ enelope, _P_ adma, _P_ arvati. The three Ps.”

“In a pod.”

“Brilliant.”

“You think?”

“No, it’s ridiculous, but I am looking forward to the look on Padma’s face when I tell her.” She picked up her quill and dipped it in the ink jar. “So, what has you so cheerful?”

“A couple things. The first, you probably already know. You see, Harry Potter told me something interesting on Tuesday.”

“Did he?” asked Penelope, giving nothing away.

“Turns out, we do have something in common. Apparently the poor bastard has also been into blokes his whole life and forgot to tell anyone. So his nightmares are more to do with him watching a boy he liked murdered right in front of him, and less to do with the Dark Lord portion of his life. And, my guess, is that it’s gotten worse because he hasn’t told his wife.”

“I would challenge the notion that he forgot, and guess it was more along the lines of that he didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

“Either way, it made me feel good that he came to me with this. Granted, he said he didn’t have anyone else to talk to, but ... Our past considered, it is a brave step for him to take. It also made me realize something about this.”

“This?”

“Yes, me coming to therapy. Me being here, doing this. At the beginning, you made it very clear that I live my life for other people. You said I needed to find value within myself, believe that I am worthy of being alive by virtue of being me.”

Penelope nodded and wrote something down on her parchment.

“When Harry Potter told me what he did, I realized that maybe my value _is_ in other people.”

“How do you mean?”

“I didn’t notice until everyone told me I gave Blaise the confidence to love someone the way he loves Dean. Being godfather to the twins means I get to make sure they grow up knowing that family is more than blood. Now I get to be with Hermione as she finally stops running away from her problems and opens up about all the pain she’s gone through.” Draco took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as Penelope continued to write. “At Bastien’s wedding, he told me that I have the strongest heart of anyone he knows. I think my value as a person comes from giving that love to other people.”

Penelope nodded.

“Are you prepared to support Hermione through that process?”

“Absolutely. I am confident in my routine, now; the full plate, three times a day. I am finally committed to moving forward, while Hermione is where I was a year-and-a-half ago. I relied too much on her before she was ready, so I would not have let her move into the manor unless I was certain I am ready.”

Penelope looked up at him, startled.

“You buried the lede again! The two of you are living together?”

“Hermione officially moved in after work on Monday.”

“How have the first few days been?”

Draco shrugged, noncommittal.

“Work for her, then sleep, not much in the middle.”

Penelope repeated, “How have the first few days been _for you_?”

“Ah. It has been nice, in a way. I love going to sleep with her, waking up with her, having those moments to ourselves. But her heart comes home at the end of the day while her head seems to stay at the Ministry. Merlin’s arse, every day has been _something._ Dragon hunting licenses, the Supreme Mugwump, or the Mermaid territorial rights she has been negotiating for years. Bloody hell, Penelope, she wants to fix everything except herself.”

“Which is why you see so much of your own struggle reflected in her.”

Draco nodded.

“I think once we get to Christmas things will settle a bit. Hermione will get to spend the holiday with her friends and mine, like a real family. I think she has been missing that.”

“Are you ready for this Christmas?”

“Provided no one breaks my heart this year, it will be an improvement.”

“Talk to me about the guest list.”

“Myself and Hermione are hosting. Theo and Tracey will come over with the twins. Blaise and Dean will be there, along with Bastien.”

“I thought Padma was spending the day with her family.”

“She is. We all thought it would be strange for Hermione to spend Christmas Day with her therapist.”

“Fair.”

“No one really knows about Pansy; she has been traveling for months with few updates. I won’t be surprised if she shows up, and if she doesn’t then she’s still having fun in the Shadows. We invited James Mountcastle and Gabrielle as well, so that will be nice. They are both good people. Then we have Hermione’s side of things with Potter, his wife, and their children. Weasley and his wife, though their child will spend the day elsewhere, thank God. I don’t think Hermione needed quite that much of Weasley’s life right in front of her. Then Romilda and Gabriel should round out the list.”

Penelope frowned.

“Are you confident this is a good idea?”

“Yes. More than anything, I want to prove to Hermione that Malfoy Manor can be a home for us. She and her friends don’t need to look at it the way they once did. It is _my_ house now. They need to see what that means.”

“What does it mean to you?”

“The manor is a reflection of the Malfoy legacy. Before, it was outdated and violent. It was based on notions of purity and superiority, so anyone who walked inside was meant to feel intimidated and lesser. Look at what growing up that way did to me! I won’t do that to my son. Or daughter. Or my _wife_ for fuck’s sake! God willing, if Hermione means it when she says she will marry me one day, I only want her to feel happy in our home. When people walk into the manor, I want them to see that for the first time in centuries the Malfoys are an actual family.”

Penelope smiled.

“You are finally embracing what it means to be Draco Malfoy.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, “and I would like to commemorate the occasion. How do people generally celebrate this sort of a landmark in recovery?”

Penelope hummed to herself.

“That is a great question.”

She tapped her quill on the parchment and looked out the window. Draco couldn’t help but smile as he’d never truly made Penelope think before. She always had an answer.

“Some people celebrate by, oddly enough, eating new foods. Some people get married, some get tattoos, I even had one client quit her job and find a new career because she felt like a different person. I believe the desire is to do something permanent to reflect their decision to keep moving forward.”

Draco nodded.

“Good. There is something I want to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting since like chapter six to make that 3 Ps in a Pod joke. This was kind of a filler chapter, but I'm very excited for Christmas next chapter. It's gonna be fun. Hope y'all are happy and healthy.


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